Parce Mihi Domine
by nothing-rhymes-with-ianto
Summary: Brian's feelings through the end of 1.22 until Justin remembers during the birthday party.
1. Chapter 1

**This is what I get for listening to Parce Mihi Domine (The song that plays at the end of 1.22) on repeat for a few hours. Angst galore. This will have four, maybe five chapters.**

**This is definitely my favorite piece out of all the fanfics I've written so far. I hope you enjoy it!**

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"Did you see their faces?" He was laughing, happier than Brian had ever seen him before. And it lifted Brian's spirits to see the little twink glow with such life.

"Yeah. We gave them a prom they'll never forget." Justin laughed again. It was a wonderful sound.

"Me neither." Brian hooked the silk scarf around Justin's neck, gently manhandling him against the car. "It's the best night of my life."

"Even if it was ridiculously romantic." Brian grinned affectionately. He couldn't look away from the joyful blue eyes that looked so trusting, lovingly at him.

He moved in to kiss Justin, then stopped, holding the loving gaze. There was something different about tonight that made him want to be gentle. He closed his eyes first-something he never did, and kissed Justin gently, once, twice, then realized it was time for Justin to go.

Gently steering him with the white silk, he spun them so that Justin could leave. For a moment, he pulled the twink closer, wanting to continue touching him, kissing him, then pushed him gently backward, twisting his other hand around the scarf.

"Later." It was a gentle promise that they'd see each other again. Justin's smiled brightly and laughed a little. Brian felt his stomach clench with a sensation he could not describe nor name.

"Later." A huffed cry of joy passed from his lips. The bright smile flashed once more at the idea of seeing Brian again. His eyes lit up at the thought of the dance. God, he really was Sunshine, wasn't he? Brian couldn't help but love Debbie for giving the kid that name. He couldn't help but lo-, like Sunshine for being such a persistent little trick.

Justin turned and walked away as Brian got in his car. Instead of backing out like he would have, Brian stopped. He watched affectionately at Justin's retreating back. He watched as Sunshine let the silk scarf slide through his fingers, knowing he was savoring the feel just because it had been on Brian. The kid was practically skipping with joy.

Then someone- who was that? They look familiar- stepped into the view, a baseball bat swinging from his hand. What the fuck? He scrambled out of the car, unsure of what was going to happen, but whatever it was, it couldn't be good. He watched the bat rise, no-, he opened his mouth but nothing came out, he couldn't react, fear was gripping him, his voice was stuck in his throat-

"Justin!" He turned, smiling bright at the sound of Brian's voice, unaware of the danger behind him. The beautiful sunshine smile that shouldn't be broken. The sunshine smile that made Brian want to cry as he watched what was unfolding in front of him. Time seemed to slow down. He was running, but the bat- the bat was swinging and the crack of wood on bone seemed to echo through the parking garage. The splitting thud of contact resounded through Brian's heart.

And then he was running faster, rushing the kid. He shoved the attacker before he could get away, but the kid was nimble and got up again. Brian grabbed the bat- the bat that had taken his sunshine- and swung it back. He wanted to hit the kid in the head, hard enough to cause damage, he wanted to kill, but instead he brought the bat swinging down to make hard contact with the attacker's knees. He took small satisfaction in the scream of pain as the teenager fell. He dropped the bat, uncertain of what to do with the kid, and ran to Justin's side.

He stopped for a nanosecond when he saw that Justin wasn't moving, when he saw the red that was trickling down near his ear. Then he dropped to his knees. No. Fuck no. He put his hand to Justin's arm, but there was no movement. Justin's breathing was shallow and the golden sunshine had gone out of him.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…God!" Brian pulled at Justin's clothes, trying to will him to be okay. No. He cradled Justin's head in his hands, not caring that blood was pouring over him. He buried his face into Justin's shoulder and prayed to gods he didn't believe in that Justin would be okay. Far away, he could hear the crying of the kid who had hit Justin.

"Justin. Justin. It's okay. Fuck! No, it's not okay. Just- don't go. No, no, no, no. You have to stay here. Please, Justin. I'm going to call for help. Justin. Sunshine. Please. Come on, you have to stay here. Do it for me. For Debbie. Do it for Daphne. It'll be all right. Shit! Justin!"

He pulled out his cell phone. With shaking fingers he dialed 911 and told the person on the other line where he was and what had happened. Talking about it made it even more real and he realized he was shaking. The person on the other end hung up and he let the phone slip from his fingers to the cold cement. The dial tone reached his ears and he knew that's what he felt like. Flatlined and empty.

He bent over Justin's prone form again, staring at his face, which was relaxed and peaceful. He brushed hair from Justin's forehead and kissed his head, again and again, as if the kisses could heal what had been broken, as if they could bring back the sunshine. He held the young man's body in his lap, kissing Justin's shoulder, his lips, his eyelids, rocking slightly. He wasn't sure if the rocking was for him or for Justin. He just knew that if he didn't hold tight to his sunshine it would be gone

He didn't registering the blaring alarm of the ambulance as it rushed to his side or the glaring flashing lights of read and blue. His eyes and mind were focused only on Justin. He didn't even realized that he was clutching Justin to him, refusing to let go, until a paramedic put a hand on his shoulder and he jumped, jerking out of the haze.

"Sir, you have to let go. We need to take him to the hospital." Brian stared emptily at the EMT and then nodded, pulling Justin tighter to him and kissing him one more time before letting the paramedics lift him onto a stretcher. He pushed to his feet. His legs were stiff from sitting on the cold cement, hunched over his Sunshine. He slowly retrieved his cell phone from the ground and pocketed it. He moved to get into the ambulance. A hand on his arm stopped him.

"Sir, what relation do you have with the boy?"

"Justin. His name is Justin Taylor. I'm his- I'm his partner. I want to ride with him. Please." The desperation and fear in his voice must have been evident because the man nodded and allowed him in.

Brian grabbed hold of Justin's hand, trying to hold on to Justin without getting in the way. Someone gently pulled the scarf off of Justin's shoulders and moved to throw it away, but Brian grabbed it out of the hands that held it. He watched helplessly as hands wrapped bandages around Justin's head. He couldn't do anything. He kissed Justin's hand again and again. Someone disengaged their hands and he shrank away as a paramedic blocked his view of Justin to get better access. Then Justin was back in view and he tunnel-visioned again on his Sunshine.

He remembered his cell phone in his pocket and pulled it out, pressing speed dial for Michael. A tentative "Hello?" was answered by a flat voice telling Michael to come to the hospital, Justin's been bashed, just come.

The ambulance came to a halt and doors opened, exposing them to the cold outside air. Hands pulled and lifted and shoved at Justin's stretcher and Brian wanted to yell at them not to shake him, not to hurt him, but he couldn't find his voice. He jumped out of the ambulance behind the EMTs and followed them, keeping Justin in his line of sight, until a hand on his chest prevented him from going any further and he heard dimly through the static in his head that he would have to stay in the waiting room, he couldn't go in with Justin. A hand on his arm led him to a hallway outside of the operating room. Someone brought him a chair and pushed him gently into it. There was something on it. Someone had taken of his jacket for him. He looked down at his hands to find the silk scarf. But it was marred with red. Justin's blood.

He felt hot tears trail their way down his face and didn't try to stop them. He crumpled the scarf into a ball and then thought better of it and put it around his shoulders. Justin. Justin was in there, and no one knew if he was going to live or die. Please live. Please, Justin. Sunshine, do it for us. He stared out at nothing, barely registering Michael's hand on his neck. It shouldn't have been Michael's hands. Not tonight. Tonight it should have been Justin's hands.

He looked down the hall, remembering when he and Justin and Mikey had all come barreling down to see Gus, laughing and racing and nervous but happy. He never thought he'd be here again, but he was. He looked back to the wall. Justin, please. It was his fault that Justin was lying there in the operating room. If he hadn't come to the prom, that wouldn't have happened. Now Justin was dangling between life and death. He let the tears fall freely.

********

By the time Jennifer, Debbie and Daphne had joined them, there were no more tears left in Brian's eyes. He stared blankly at nothing, and when Jennifer touched his hand gently, he flinched away and stood up, walking quickly to the mens room and locking himself in a stall.

Kneeling, he retched into the toilet but nothing came up. He knew it was futile, but continued dry heaving over the bowl, trembling. When he stomach calmed, he leaned against the cool tile, taking deep shaky breaths to calm himself. He heard the gentle squeak of the door as it opened.

"Brian?" Michael's voice was soft but it echoed loud- too loud, through the tiled room. The stall door opened and Michael was beside him, rubbing soothing circles on his back. "It's all right. It's okay. It's all right."

"It's not all right! Fuck!" Brian hit the wall with his fist. Michael took both of Brian's hands in his and held him close. Brian resisted for a moment, then went limp in is friends grip and just sat there, breathing hard. He looked up at Michael, eyes dulled with pain and anguish and worry, bloodshot with tears. Michael put his forehead to Brian's and rocked him gently. They just sat like that for a long time, neither caring that their legs had fallen asleep or that neither of them was very comfortable. When Brian let out a long, cathartic breath, Michael took that as a cue to speak.

"I think they've gone home now. Do you want to go back?" Brian nodded and stood, wincing. He splashed cool water on his face, then left the restroom, Michael right behind him. He sat down again in his chair. No one was around. They had all gone home. Michael came closer.

"Do you want something to eat?" Brian flinched at the sound, so close to his ear. He shook his head and stared at his hands. Michael said something about getting food for himself and left. Brian remained where he was. He felt the tears form again, pricking behind his eyelids, and he willed them away.

He stood up and began to pace, unable to stay still any longer, the fear and uncertainty bubbling again in his belly, making him frantic. He continued to pace, running a hand through his hair, breathing hard. He turned and leaned his forehead against the wall, so unsure. He felt Michael take his hand and lead him back to his seat. A water bottle was shoved into his hands and he unconsciously took a drink. He put the cap back on the water and let it slide from his hand. He continued to stare at the wall as time slid by at a speed unknown to him.

*********

"Brian. It's been a whole day. You're exhausted. Go to sleep." He wasn't exhausted. And he couldn't sleep, he had to stay awake, to know if Justin was all right. But he was tired.

His head felt heavy, and he let it drop against his chest. He blinked, trying to keep his eyes open. He slid into blackness.

When he awoke, it was almost noon, and Debbie was sitting beside him. She moved to put a hand on his knee, and he flinched away. She looked apologetic and returned her hand to her own lap. He looked at Michael, who was seated beside him.

"They still don't know yet. He's still in critical condition." Michael answered the question in Brian's eyes. Brian bit his lip and nodded. He glanced down at the scarf in his lap and shuddered, hunching his shoulders and closing his eyes, trying to stave off another wave of tears.

Michael walked over and crouched beside him, running a comforting hand along the back of his neck. "Do you want anything? Want to go home?" he asked softly.

"Maybe. No. No. I want to know he's gonna be okay. Then I can go home." Michael nodded and retreated back to his chair. Brian retreated back into his head.

It was nearly ten PM on the third day when a doctor opened the door and looked at the small group cloistered together. A dark haired man was hunched in one seat, eyes red, face slack, staring off in the distance. A blonde woman sat beside him, looking at a tissue in her hands. Others were trying to comfort them. They all looked up when the doctor stepped in. He seemed nearly taken aback when the dark haired man turned piercing hazel eyes on him, the devastation and pain in them enough to knock you over.

"Well, how is he? Is he okay? When can he go home? Is he awake? What's going on?" A chorus of voices surrounded Brian and he wanted to cover his ears. The doctor held up his hand for silence.

"He's stable now. He's still in a coma, and we're not sure when he'll wake up. We wont know how extensive the damage is until he wakes up, but there is a large possibility for minor brain damage. He might have difficulty remembering things, he might have problems with motor control. We're not entirely sure what effects this will have on him, and we cant be certain until he wakes up."

"When will that be?" Asked Jennifer.

"We're not sure. We had to open up his skull to release the blood and that can do a lot of damage. He may not wake up for a long time, but we are almost completely certain that he will wake up. Though he will wake up, we have no way of knowing his mental condition or any motor damage that has occurred until he does."

"Fuck!" Brian couldn't stand this any longer. He stood up, kicking over his chair in his haste, and hurried out of there. He heard Michael call his name, and knew that his friend would be running after him. He hurried out to the parking lot, then stood there, looking out. Michael caught up with him.

"Where the fuck's my car?" Brian asked him.

"It's still in the parking garage where…" Oh yeah. Brian had forgotten that he'd ridden in the ambulance. "I'll take you home." Brian nodded.

Brian opened the door to his loft, kicking off his shoes as he stepped inside. He hadn't realized he was still wearing the suit from that night.

"Brian, do you want me to-" Brian shook his head at Michael.

"Just go, Michael. I want to be alone. And you need to be in Portland with David. I'll be okay, I promise. If-if I need something, I'll call your mom." It was the most he'd said in three days. Michael nodded.

"Okay." Brian allowed Michael to give him a kiss, then shut the door after his receding back. He slowly undressed, exhausted from the stress of the hospital. The last thing he removed was the bloodstained scarf, which he reverently folded and put at the foot of the bed before stepping into the shower.

He turned the water on as hot as it would go, trying to sear his skin clean and burn out the pain and anguish and worry. He scrubbed at himself until he was raw, and then finally turned off the water and fell into bed, not bothering to put on boxers or a t-shirt. But his fingers brushed the white silk fabric and he pulled it to him, draping it around his shoulders and tangling an end through his fingers before he fell into a fitful sleep full of baseball bats and blood and screams and cold cement and sunshine smiles and a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he could not describe.


	2. Chapter 2

Brian awoke the next morning to sunlight blinding him. His head was pounding. He felt something silky brush his arm, his neck. He looked down. A bloodstained white scarf. The past three days came rushing back, slamming into his head and he screamed, a rough, throat-searing scream of despair, and curled into the fetal position, burying himself under the sheets. He felt tears threaten to take over and swallowed them down along with the lump that had formed in his throat. Fuck. He tensed every muscle until it burned, then released them and tossed off the sheets. Once again, he folded the bloodied scarf reverently and placed it at the foot of the bed before stepping into the shower.

He let the shower's heat course over him. What day was it today? He should probably go into work. Yeah. He turned off the water and shaved, trying to concentrate so he wouldn't nick himself. He pulled on his pants, and stopped. The scarf. Justin. He couldn't leave the scarf here. As if in a daze, he picked up the scarf and draped it around his shoulders, smoothing out the cloth so it wouldn't show beneath his shirt. He finished dressing and took a breath, steeling himself for the day ahead.

He stepped outside. Someone (probably Michael) had driven his car from the garage to his building, and it was parked out front. He silently thanked Michael taking the keys with him, knowing there was an extra pair in his front pocket. He got in and turned the car on. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror, pulling on a practiced expression of neutrality, then, satisfied that he couldn't be read, peeled out and drove to work.

When he walked into work, Cynthia gave him a look that said _"You look like shit, and why haven't you been here in a week?"_ But she had the decency and intelligence not to ask him aloud. He flung himself down on his chair and pulled the pile of papers on his desk toward him, dreading having to open up the folder on top and work his way down.

He heard Cynthia come in and say something about the newest account being all set up, and to come take a look at what the art department had come up with, she didn't think it was too good, but it was his decision, but he didn't hear her, really. He had been caught off guard by the feel of silk brushing against his neck. He had forgotten he was wearing the scarf. He had frozen mid-reach, everything from the past week rushing back, pain blooming inside him and behind his eyes as if it was a bruise he had accidentally pressed firmly down on. And then somewhere, in the recesses of his mind, a resounding _crack_ of wood on bone echoed, and he flinched and shuddered. Cynthia looked at him strangely, but he waved her away, responding with some vague reply about getting to it in a second, and she left, glancing back at him, her face showing some concern. He put his head in his hands and sighed, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

Why did he have to let that silly trick break the fuck-only-once rule? And why did let the kid stay with him? And why did let the hope and optimism and sunshine in his eyes get to him? And why did he get jealous when that kid fucked someone else? And why did he decide to go to Justin's prom for him? Oh, yeah, because he- Wait, what the fuck was he thinking?

Brian groaned, and wished to god a full bottle of JB would conveniently appear on his desk. But it didn't. So he got up and headed out of his office to go take a look at what the art department had served up.

By the end of the day, Brian was itching to get out of his suit and to the clubs to get hospitals and blood and blonde twinks off his mind. He sped home, changed into his hottest Babylon outfit, and went off into the _thumpa thumpa _to erase his brain.

He danced, eyes closed, losing himself in the music, in the movement, the beat. Men brushed up against him, grinding with him, enticing him. Someone handed him a packet of E and he took it, gladly. Without missing a beat, he threaded through the pulsing crowd to the bar to get as drunk as he possibly could.

With a sufficient amount of drugs in his system, he now made his way to the back room. A hand grabbed his shoulder, and he turned, rolling his eyes. Now what?

"What are you doing here?" Emmett's shouted question carried over the music. "Why aren't you at the hospital or something?"

Brian shook off Emmett's hand and turned away. "Fuck off. I'm here because I want to be. I don't have to report to you my every move. Go away." Emmett frowned at him, but went back to dancing with some burly guy anyway.

He brushed through the chain curtain into the back room, making his way through the plastic strips to a corner, where he leaned against a wall and waited. In moments, a few tricks were on top of him, and he allowed them to take away his stress with their mouths.

After an hour or so in the back room, Brian made his way to the Liberty Baths. Thank god they were open all hours. He wandered listlessly into the steam room. He could feel eyes on him as he sat down. Scanning the room, he chose his target.

Less than ten minutes later, he was in a corner of the steam room, his dick buried in some trick's ass, his eyes closed and his body sparking. Suddenly the flashing image of a Sunshine smile being eclipsed by a bat and the sound of wood on bone flickered through his mind.

"Shit." He pulled out, holding his head. Ignoring the trick's protests, he wrapped his towel around himself, hurried out of the steam room, grabbed his clothes and drove.

At first he just drove around. He just felt the need to move, to get somewhere, to get nowhere, to clear his head. Then he found himself on a familiar road to the hospital.

As if being propelled by another entity or something that was entirely not himself, Brian entered the hospital, pressing the buttons on the elevator to Justin's floor in a daze. Before he could stop himself, he was standing at the window of Justin's room, the sickening _crack_ of wood on bone echoing through his brain, unable to look away from the sleeping twink hooked up to all those wires. He stared hard through the glass, as if thought alone could will the boy to wake up, to come out of his coma and light up the world with his sunshine again.

He lost sense of time as he leaned his forehead against the glass, watching Justin sleeping breathing. He lost himself in his mind, trying desperately to think about the King Of Babylon contest, taking Justin, the sunshine smile, Justin with Gus, the art show, anything but the sound of wood on bone. The night nurse tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped.

"Who are you?" She cocked her head at him.

"Brian. I'm a friend-

"Oh! You're the man that saved Justin. Yes, his mother said something about you." Brian shrugged and said nothing. _I wouldn't exactly call being in a coma saved_, he thought. He turned back to the window. Ignoring the night nurse, he lost himself in thought again. It wasn't until 3:30 AM that he looked at his watch and realized that he should probably get back to the loft. He pried himself away from the glass and trudged out to his car.

It took him a long time to fall asleep that night. He spent most of it shrouded in blue, staring at the ceiling through the smoke of his cigarette, wondering what could have happened if he hadn't gone to that prom.

*****

Brian woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. He called Cynthia.

"I'll be a little late."

"Why don't you just take the whole day off, Bri? You sound like you have one hell of a hangover."

"No. I'm coming in as soon as the elephants stop dancing in my brain." He heard Cynthia's sigh.

"All right. But take some aspirin or something."

"Yes, doctor." He hung up. Groaning, he swung his feet over the edge of the bed and shielded his eyes from the sunlight streaming through the window. Reluctantly, he took an aspirin as Cynthia had demanded and made himself the strongest pot of coffee he could possibly find. Letting the warm water roll over him, he tried to ignore the pounding in his head. He threw on a random suit over the spoiled scarf, for the first time in his life not even bothering to find the perfect one for the day, downed his coffee, and hurried out to his car.

Driving to work was a nightmare. Driving hung over was one thing, he had done it many times. But driving hung over while the _reason_ for being hung over was still firmly lodged in his head, well that was something else. Something he had never done before. After what seemed like forever, he got to work. Barely acknowledging Cynthia's presence, he sat down at his desk and buried himself in his work, keeping busy so he wouldn't have to think about blonde hair and bright smiles and blood.

Cynthia seemed to notice Brian's glassed eyes and that he was repeatedly running his hands over his face, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, things he only did when he was worried or stressed. Throughout the day, he continued to blow off her questions about whether he was okay and if he'd like to go home. Finally, it was the end of the day and she was gone. He worked for as much longer as he possibly could before heading home.

He got in his car and relaxed at the thought of going off to Babylon and getting his rocks off, losing himself in the sex and the music and the drugs. And ignoring his stupid friends. Now that Michael was gone, the others seemed to think it was now their job to worry about him and keep an eye on him. He didn't need a baby sitter. Christ.

His thoughts were too loud and annoying for him to deal with right now. Without taking his eyes off the road, he reached over and flicked on the radio. The notes of an all too familiar song reached his ears.

"Shit!" He turned off the radio and punched the dashboard as hard as he could. "Fuck!" Now he really needed to go to Babylon, get drunk, and get rid of this pain in his hea- hand.

He unlocked the door and stepped into the loft, walking over to the table and poking the blinking button to listen to his phone messages as he peeled off his clothes to change for Babylon.

_Beep._ "Brian. It's Ted. Just calling to make sure you're okay. Emmett wanted to make sure. And I haven't seen you hardly. Call me back when you get this. Bye."

_Beep._ "Brian, it's Lindsay. Just calling to make sure you're o-" Brian pressed Erase All before her voice could continue. He sighed, rolling his eyes. Why did everyone want to fucking check up on him? He was fine, except when a certain Sunshine smile popped into his head. Leaving his cell phone off and sitting on the counter, he left the building to go to Babylon and dance away the night.

This time, he actually got all the way through fucking some trick before Justin came to his mind. At the thought of his body on the cold floor of the garage, he headed over to the bar and got drunk. Somehow, he managed to drive correctly and made his way out of the club to the hospital (not of his body's accord) without getting in an accident or pulled over.

He found himself staring through the glass at the blonde boy in the hospital bed. The stupid machines and his paleness made Justin look small and helpless. Again he wondered whether this would have happened if he hadn't gone to the prom and danced with Justin. Again he decided firmly that it was his fault. Again he wanted to kill the motherfucking kid who had done this to Sunshine, and drown himself in whatever he could find for going to his stupid prom and causing this to happen.

"Oh, you're back." The night nurse had shuffled in behind him. He merely nodded. She seemed to have realized that he didn't really want to talk. But for some reason today she pressed on. "He still hasn't come out of his coma yet. His mother told me the guy who hit him is going to go on trial next month. I'm not really supposed to tell people my political opinions, but I hope to hell that jackass is put away."

"Yeah." Brian replied, so softly the night nurse barely heard it. He decided he heard enough jabbering for the night, and fuck if it wasn't his fault Justin was here in the first place. He turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the hospital, leaving the night nurse to stare after him, wondering if she'd said something wrong.

He drove home, one hand on the wheel, the other by his neck, rubbing the silk scarf between his thumb and forefinger. He watched an ambulance fly by in the direction of the hospital, and could see in his mind's eye the paramedics working frantically on Justin as they rushed to safety and help. He shook his head, but the vision stayed.

He knew he would get to sleep late tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Writers block tastes yucky. But it's slowly going away. Ideas are flowing! Even if I am writing at 4 AM when I should be sleeping. I guess insomnia is good for something!**

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The month melted together, days blended, hours faded into each other. Every day Brian would drag himself out of bed and into work, and bury himself under projects and accounts. Then he would go home, shower, go to Babylon or the Baths or someplace to find drugs and tricks and get drunk, then somehow he would find himself outside of Justin's hospital room at two or three in the morning, the night nurse either babbling in his ear or silently watching him. Then he went home to start all over again.

One night he looked in the window to see all the wires gone.

"He woke up." The night nurse told him. He let out a quiet breath. "His mother and sister were there. He doesn't remember being attacked."

"Oh." He watched Justin put his arms around himself, frowning in his sleep. He fought the slight urge to go in there and sooth him. He wasn't supposed to let this kid get to him. Brian Kinney didn't do boyfriends, or partners, or anything remotely similar. He didn't do love, or over-protectiveness, or regret, or sorrow. Shit.

But he didn't leave. He stayed and watched through the glass as Justin tossed and turned in his sleep. He tried to ignore the emotions gnawing at his heart, at his gut, until it became too much and he got out of there as fast as he could.

*****

Someone had finally gotten up the balls to call Michael after about a week of not hearing from Brian. Now Michael was leaving messages every day, which Brian didn't listen to, and sending him worried emails which Brian didn't read.

After a little bit, Brian started going to the diner in the morning again, just so that maybe it would calm Michael down a bit and everyone would stop coddling him. But he wouldn't visit Justin. Well, he made sure that no one else knew about his early morning visits. Debbie glared at him every morning when she saw him in the diner, taking his order stiffly. He knew she was angry at him for not visiting Justin, but he also wondered if she, like the others, blamed him for Justin getting hurt. It _was_ his fault. If he hadn't danced with Justin, that Hobbes kid wouldn't have done anything.

He came home from work and, as usual, hit the message machine as he changed for Babylon.

_Beep._ "Hey, Brian. It's Michael. Just calling again to make sure you're okay. Why haven't you called me back? Ma says she saw you in the diner today. Call me when you get this."

_Beep._ "Hey, Brian, it's Michael. Will you just call me? I want to make sure you're not dead, or in a coma or something. Oops. Sorry. I-I shouldn't have said that. Sorry. Just-just call me back."

_Beep._ "Hey, Bri. It's Lindz. How're you holding up? We went to see Justin today. He's doing much better. Just checking to see how you're doing. You should go visit him. Bye."

_Beep._ "Brian. It's Michael. Sorry about what I said earlier. Wont you just call me back? Brian, you gotta talk to someone. Lindsay told me Justin is getting better. She says he's still depressed though. But no one knows how you're doing. Call me."

_Beep._ "Hi, Brian? It's Daphne. You know, Justin's friend? Ju-Justin gave me your number. He wants to see you. Whenever we come visit him, all he asks is 'Where's Brian?' You should come and see him. Um, bye."

Brian sighed, glad tomorrow was the weekend and he could spend the day in, and the night out. And not go see Justin while he was awake. He didn't want to Justin, or anyone else, to see that this was actually having an effect on him. Brian Kinney wasn't emotional and the only person that mattered was himself. That's what should be happening. His brain was just being an asshole, feeling guilty for getting Justin hurt. And yet, he still found himself on the road to the hospital every night after Babylon. Once the kid was out of the hospital, Brian could return to life as it was before Sunshine came along, and not have to bother with the silly trick any more. Right? Right.

******

"Deb, my order?"

"It's coming, asshole. Don't get your balls in a fuckin' twist."

Brian rolled his eyes and folded his newspaper over to read the next article. Something about a firefighter being canned for confessing to arson. Ha.

"Here." A to-go box dropped in front of him. He looked up at Debbie and gave her a sarcastic smile of thanks. "Have you gone to see Justin yet?"

"No, Debbie. And I'm not going to see him." He picked up his box. "Now, I have to go to work. Bye." Deb watched him leave with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face.

At first, Cynthia acted normal. She just gave him his folders as usual and went about her business. But as the day, wore on, she began to give him funny looks. Finally she just had to say something.

"Brian, are-are you doing all right? You're always working or fucking. Shouldn't you go see Justin and see how he's doing? Maybe it would do both of you some good."

"Christ!" Brian slammed his hands on the table. "Does _everyone_ think I need to be babysat? You all, just need to go away, and let me continue on with my life as it was, before that brat came along. Fuck."

Cynthia stared at him for a moment, then turned and left. He sank back into his chair and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Goddamn.

He left Ryder in a shitty mood, determined to go home and get stoned and then go to sleep. Which he did.

He woke up the next day, went to the Diner. Debbie ignored him, leaving someone else to take his order. At Ryder, Cynthia did as he had asked and acted as though it was a year ago before this had ever happened. Comforted by the illusion that all was well, he decided to head to Babylon.

He put on a black sleeveless top, and headed out. But, wading through the endless bodies and waves of pulsing, sweating skin, something began to crack, a fissure was forming inside him that he didn't really notice. All he knew was that he needed more drugs, and more fucking. He felt like there was a void, a hole. And of course, the all-purpose cure was sex, sex and more sex. So he found himself in the backroom, two guys going down on him as he sat in a chair, eyes glaze over, brain far away, half in bliss and half in a dark place that he didn't know how to get out of. And he wasn't go to let anyone near him while he was in that sort of state. At least, no one who knew him well or cared about him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar form staring at him. He pulled his usual don't-give-a-fuck Brian Kinney mask on and looked up.

"Hey, Mikey."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"No," He knew Mikey wanted him to say something all heartfelt; fuck that. He leaned down to the two guys on his cock. "Cover your teeth."

"I've been emailing you and leaving you messages practically every day for the last month, and you never answered." Fucking drama queen. Michael needed to fuck off.

"Busy, busy." Brian knew that Michael was at least reliable enough to partially believe that he'd gone back to his original King of Liberty Avenue state.

"What, up to your old tricks?"

Brian grinned. "Never old. And never the same ones twice." Suddenly, the mouths on his cock were a hassle, and all he wanted to do was get out from under Michael's stare, into the loft and into some guys' ass. "You can take a break." He muttered and stood up, zipping up.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay." Sentimental Mikey was a bitch. First, he's a drama queen, now he's an annoying babysitter. He really did take after his mother.

He raised his eyebrows at Mikey. "Oh, not just okay, I'm-I'm fabulous." Thank god for drugs. He stood up and began to walk away. "In fact, I'm the most fabulous fag in Pittsburgh. That is, if it's possible to be fabulous in Pittsburgh." He sighed, feeling his mind slipping back into that dark place now that Michael was here. "Does anybody have any E?" A dozen hands appeared. He made his selection and paid. Sex and drugs were so reliable.

"So who told you I was here, Rosencrantz or Guildenstern?"

"I think I could have figured it out on my own." A well-toned body caught Brian's eye and he turned. Finally, a reason to get rid of Mikey.

"Shit, I've been trying to nail that fucker all night." He followed the trick as he disappeared behind the wall. He barely heard Michael's concerned, needy call as he made his way into the darkness.

He followed the trick, slipping with him into a corner, pushing away all thoughts of Mikey and all dark thoughts of Sunshine and blood and guilt, and instead focused on the hot muscled body in front of him. He shoved the trick against the wall and whispered in his ear, sliding off his jeans in preparation to fuck the guy's brains out.

The guy reached behind him and handed Brian some more drugs. He wasn't entirely sure what they were, but at the moment he didn't care, so he popped them in his mouth and took a quick bump of his own cocktail.

In moments he was flying high on the drugs in his system and the ass on his cock. He let his brain leave his body and savored the bliss for as long as he possibly could.

His brain was hazy from the drugs and the sex and the pleasure and the trying to forget, but he managed to get into his car and start driving. The unfortunate thing about trying to forget, was that it only lasted so long, and it wasn't long enough that he didn't find himself on the familiar road to the goddamn hospital. He parked in the lot and got out, suddenly feeling too sober for his own good.

He stared in at the thin blond boy in the hospital bed. Part of him hoped that Justin would wake up from his dreams and see Brian staring in at him, but another, stronger part of him hoped that Justin would never know that he was ever here. He knew the night nurse would never tell.

He stared at the sleeping form, the mantra of _my fault my fault my fault_ running unfailingly through his brain. Brian jerked slightly and focused on the boy as Justin groaned, frowning and rolling over in his sleep, a bad dream disturbing his peace. _He's not okay. This is all my fault. _He needed more drugs. He took a bump, putting his hand up to his face and sniffling as if tired.

"Crummy night." He jumped a little. The night nurse. He'd forgotten she was there. He looked away, not wanting her to see that he was getting high.

"Yeah, what's a little rain?" reluctantly, he turned from the window and sat down in the chair.

"How 'bout some hot tea?" Brian sighed, everyone was always trying to babysit him. "Or I could, uh, fix you up some of that, uh, soup-in-a-cup. Though it has enough sodium to stiff a horse." He shook his head. No food, it would only make him feel worse. He couldn't really remember the last time he'd eaten a full meal.

The nurse turned back to him. "Oh, by the way, Miguel, you know, uh, the one who's here Tuesdays and Thursdays, he was tossing the ball with him today. Yeah, said his hand was improving." He looked up at her, unable to decide whether he was glad that Justin would be out soon and he could get on with his life, or disappointed because he wouldn't get to see the little twat any more. "But he still has these outbursts when he gets frustrated."

Brian scratched his head. He didn't want to talk. "Well, there must be something that you can give him."

"Oh, drugs cant fix everything."

"Where'd you hear that?" Drugs were certainly working wonders with him. Brian stood and walked to the window, his brain starting up its "_my fault_" mantra again. He pulled out a cigarette.

"If you ask me, what would help him the most, is if he knew that you came here every-"

"No!" He couldn't know. No one could know. He didn't want anyone else-even himself- to really see how much Brian-fucking-Kinney was affected by this. Brian Kinney didn't do affected. Brian Kinney didn't do apologies. And Brian Kinney definitely didn't do attached. He really needed this cigarette. He flicked his lighter. The nurse made a noise. Absurdly, he held out the pack in offering, then realized exactly what he was doing.

"Ah, no." He put the cigarette and the pack away.

"Who made up the fucking rule that you can't smoke in a hospital?" The nurse shrugged at him and walked away. He turned back to the window and stared at Justin. As usual, he lost track of time as his thoughts wandered, guilt and pain and Sunshine and darkness and so many other things flinging him inward for a long time, and he finally dragged himself away from the glass and home to the loft to collapse in bed with the bloodstained scarf still draped around his shoulders.

*******

Upon awakening, Brian made the instant executive decision to stay home and get high.

Weeks ago he had gotten used to the constant sense of déjà vu of his life the past month. He didn't even try to do much of anything besides his usual old routine of diner, work, Babylon or the Baths, hospital, bed, repeat. Some days he would break the monotony a little bit and stay home to get drunk or stoned or both. Now that Mikey was back, he had a feeling that comforting, safe, numb monotony would end. And, unfortunately, he would now be worried and henpecked and coddled to death by Michael. Today ought to be loads of fun. Getting high was most definitely needed to survive. He pulled out his first joint and started in.


	4. Chapter 4

**So, I'm actually extending this story until Justin remembers the bashing during Gus' party. Stick around, it's not done yet!**

* * *

A knock sounded on his door. Brian groaned, he knew who it was. Sighing, he stubbed out his last joint- he was pretty much done with it anyway- and strolled over to the door. He opened it a bit, rolling his eyes, about to tell Michael to go away, but the damn persistent guy pushed his way in. He stepped back and let Michael close the door.

Michael turned and glared at him. "I left you four messages."

"I told you, busy, busy." Brian followed Michael's path with his eyes, trying desperately to keep a firm hold on the Brian-fucking-Kinney mask through his stoned haze. He sighed, scratching the back of his neck where his hair was making him itch, and decided on a peace offering. He grabbed a bag of chips of the counter and chucked it at Michael, who caught it in midair. "Want some dinner?"

"This is dinner?" Michael tossed the bag onto the table. Okay, so he had been eating almost nothing for the past month and a half. He was trying to stay thin and youthful, right? Who could blame him?

"Just, the essential elements of a healthy diet: salt, saturated fat, alcohol." In other words, what he had been barely living on.

"I'm never eating again. My mom practically force-fed me the entire Liberty Diner menu."

"Well, who told you to eat it?" Why did Michael always do what everyone else said?

"Well, what was I supposed to do?"

"Say no."

"You know it makes her happy." Therein lies the problem, Mikey.

"There you have it, ladies and gentlemen, proof positive that making other people happy can cause nausea, severe cramps, even diarrhea." Or pain, blood, even amnesia. Shit. Wasn't going to think about that. Goddamn it. Michael got up and moved to his side.

"Got any Tums?" He stared at Mikey for a second, then smirked, remembering an old joke they had in high school.

"Know what Tums is spelled backwards?"

"Smut!" They answered together, grinning at each other. Then Brian frowned. Michael should be in Oregon, and he should be at Woody's getting drunk.

"Why the fuck are you here?"

"I told you, I left you a buncha messages and you never called me back."

"I-I mean, out of all the holiday destinations you could've chosen, Ibiza, Puerto Viarta, Six Flags over fucking Tulsa, why the Pitts?"

"I missed it. It's my home."

"Not anymore, it's not. You're just a visitor here now." Brian scoffed. "Just a sightseer of your former life." He stared at the film cuts in his hands, not really seeing them. He knew where Michael was going to go now that he'd said hello to everyone else. And he didn't like it. But he knew. "So now that you've seen your mom, and the boys, and me, who's next on the tour?"

"I thought I'd go see Justin." Yup, he called it. He scoffed, looked back at his photos. Dammit, he should have brought his camera to that prom, given it to Daphne. Not. Going. To. Think. About. It. "How's he doing?'

_Not good. It's my fault._ "How should I know?" And now he really needed to go get drunk.

"Well, you would if you went to see him. How about you coming with me?"

"What for?"

"It might make him happy."

"I just told you, making other people happy can be hazardous to your health." _And theirs. And I'm not gonna let him see me like this anyway, Michael. Fuck that._

"So can making yourself miserable." Shut. Up. Michael. He put his hand up to stop Michael's blabbing.

"Look, save the worried wife routine for the Doc…and, uh, come with me to Woody's."

"I don't wanna- I don't want to go to Woody's."

"Come on. It's part of the tour. On your left, a nostalgic recreation of your misspent youth. You'll love it." And he really, really needed to get drunk. So Mikey needed to come with him so he could get the fuck home and not end up at the goddamn hospital staring into that fucking window again.

"Uh… Yeah, sure." He grinned at Michael, then realized that he reeked of sweat and weed and god knows what else.

"I stink. I need a shower." He shuffled into the bedroom, undoing the buttons of his shirt as he went. Stopping at the doorway to bathroom, he peeled off the shirt, revealing the stained scarf beneath. He blinked slowly, trying to fight off the dark place in his brain, fighting to keep the fucking mask in place. But Mikey wasn't looking, so he let it slip just a little as he ran the scarf through his fingers, realizing that he was unable to remember it in its pure form. He folded it and placed it by his clothes, starting up the shower and stepping in.

He closed his eyes and turned his face towards the steady stream of water, permitting it to wash away the scents of his day, if only temporarily. He let his mind wander off to random places; Gus and advertising and finding Anita and new furniture he wanted to buy. He began to wash himself, closing his eyes and allowing himself to sway. Then he was losing his balance and catching himself with a palm against the glass. But the low-pitched squeak of skin on glass made him think of fucking Justin in the shower and he shut off the water and got out, drying off and changing, blanking out his brain even as he slid the soiled white scarf on underneath his clean blue shirt.

He stepped out into the room. Michael turned from where he was standing, flipping through some random magazine.

"So, Mikey, ready to go?"

"Uh, yeah. Except, I gotta go the diner and say hello to Ma. And tell her not to come to Woody's since I'll be there."

Brian laughed, scoffing. "Yeah. Wouldn't want that. Debbie's not good for one's sex life, you know."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Come on. Take your car. I'll meet you at Woody's."

*********

By the time Michael got to Woody's, Brian was already on his third drink. Or maybe it was his fourth? He wasn't counting. Michael sat down next to him and ordered a beer. Brian took a drink.

"Brian, what-"

"How's Debbie?"

"Huh? Oh, she's good. She says to tell you that you're an asshole and that you need to eat."

"Uh huh." He knocked back another one. "So. How're the boys of Portland? I bet with all that rain, they all have perfect peaches 'n cream cheeks." He needed to keep Michael talked about stuff he didn't give a shit about, so he could wasted and his best friend wouldn't notice.

"I…haven't had a chance to do a butt check." Brian checked out a new Woody's patron, sizing him up, before deciding on his prey. "Besides, David and I have better ways of spending our evenings." Oh, Michael was still talking.

"Like what?"

"We cook and we read and we listen to music." Christ. If that wasn't boring and hetero as all hell.

"And…check each other's pulses to make sure you're still alive?" He thumped his glass. "You know, if it was me, I'd be out every night… topping the tall timbers."

"Yeah, that's why they have environmental protection laws."

Brian giggled drunkenly, mocking the bad joke. "But, Mikey, tell me. I need to know. Does a lumberjack off?" He barked a hooting laugh and looked down at his hands which were unconsciously preparing a bump. Michael put a hand on his shoulder.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Nothing-the-fuck is going on." For some reason that joke was actually funny to him.

"You're a fucking fall down mess."

"I'm beautiful! I'll always be beautiful. You said that yourself." It was true he was, and he had. And if Michael didn't stop bugging him, he'd have to get even more hammered and then leave. "You want some?" He offered Michael a bump. Michael shook his head, so Brian took it upon himself to have both his and Michael's share.

"You cut yourself off from everyone, including me. You're drinking….Christ, like I've never seen you before."

"Oh, well." He nodded to Mikey, downed the freshly poured glass.

"Maybe you need to talk to someone." Christ, here we go with the babysitting again.

"What are you? My goddamn mother? You go back where you belong…and read and cook and listen to Muzak with David, and I'll be all right." He fixed Michael with a stare, hiccupped, then stood to go find that trick and lose his brain again. Michael grabbed his arm.

"Why haven't you gone to see Justin?"

Brian stared at the counter, cocking his head, trying to focus on the spot across by the wall. He didn't want anyone, especially Michael to know about the early morning visits he had made, and fuck Michael if he thought he was going to make him see Justin during the day.

He cleared his throat. "Because…" _Because it's my fault._ "There's nothing I can do for him." He clapped Michael on the hand and jerked his arm away, then left his seat to go find that guy. Brian could feel Michael's eyes on his back and he ignored them. He wandered to the other side of Woody's, looking around, but the guy was gone and the rest of the bar he'd already had, and what he hadn't were slim pickings anyway. He decided to wander back to Michael.

He watched a crowd disperse from the corner near the door and glanced over to see what had just happened. Then he stopped, feeling like the world had just punched him in the gut, and sobered up. _Shit shit shit shit. Justin_. Sunshine. No. Shit. He didn't want Justin to see what a mess this had made him. He didn't want Justin to see him like this. And what if the blond blamed him? He already knew it was his fault, he didn't need to be told again.

"Well, are you just gonna fuckin' stand there?" Michael demanded. He turned from the two standing in the corner, eyes wide, breathing hard. What could he do? He knew the stubborn kid wasn't going to leave without leaving with him, and he knew Michael wasn't going to let him leave without taking Justin with him. But fuck, he didn't want Justin to see him like this. He put on his Brian-fucking-Kinney mask on as quickly as possible, hoping they hadn't registered the vulnerability in his features a moment ago. Better to get this shit over with as quickly as possible.

He walked over to Michael and Justin. Michael stepped a little ways away. Justin glanced at the floor, then up at Brian.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Um…"

"I'm gonna, uh, leave. You coming?" Justin looked frightened and uncertain for a moment, then nodded.

"Y-yeah."

"You cant drive, Brian! You're fucking drunk!" Michael cut in.

"Fuck off, Michael. I'll drive if I want to. It's my fucking car and I'm going to my fucking apartment. Leave me alone." He trudged his way out, Justin on his heels. Getting in his Jeep, he reached across and opened the passenger door for Justin without a word. Justin pulled himself in and shut the door with his left hand. Justin sat there, watching Brian. Brian couldn't decide if he never wanted to let Justin out of his sight, or if he couldn't bear to look at the blonde. Neither spoke until they got into the loft.

"When did you get out of the hospital?"

"This morning. There were all these reporters outside. Hobbes' trial is tomorrow. I had to sneak out the window."

"Do you…want something to drink?"

"Sure."

Justin started talking as Brian rooted through the refrigerator for bottled water.

"The doctor said that if Hobbes had hit me a fraction of an inch this way…or, that way…" he pointed with his fingers. Brian handed him a glass. "Or at a different angle, or even a little bit harder, I'd be a complete vegetable." Brian leaned against the counter, eyes half focused on Justin, half far away in a place that was whispering _'my fault'_.

"Or dead." The word 'dead' snapped his attention back to Justin. Inside, he shuddered, shying away from the thought. What if that had happened? How could he have survived himself? "As it is, he only damaged the cerebral motorstrip."

"Is that where they drag-race through your brain?"

Justin laughed a bit, scoffing at him. "No, it's a part of the cerebral cortex that controls motor skills."

"I know what it is, I attended the eighth grade." _Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead _was still echoing in his own brain. And he was even more strongly aware of the silk hidden beneath his shirt, brushing against his skin.

"They had to drill through my skull to release all the blood."

"Cool." _Not cool. You could've died_. He ran a hand over his face.

"They say I may never draw again." Justin looked at him, confusion and a faded look of hope in his eyes.

"Yeah, well, they're always telling people they'll never walk again or draw again or…piss again, so that when you do, you'll think they're geniuses and charge you whatever the fuck they want." His voice sounded too loud even to his own ears. Justin was peering at him. He huffed out a sigh and faced him.

"Why didn't you come see me?" _I did. Every night._ He drew his lips into his mouth. Justin couldn't know.

"…What for?"

"Considering I was in a coma for two weeks, in rehab for a month. Trying to relearn how to throw a fucking wiffle ball."

"You know, if you want to regain the agility and strength in your hand, I'd suggest jacking off several times a day. It works like magic."

Justin nodded. "You should've at least called to see if I was still alive."

_I sat in a fucking hospital for three goddamn days waiting to see if you were still alive._ He looked quickly away, nearly interrupting Justin with his rushed response.

"I'm sure I would have heard if you weren't." He got up, turning. "Besides, I'm not your occupational therapist. I'm not your trauma specialist, I'm not even your goddamn mother, sitting there holding your hand. I mean, there's nothing I could have done for you." _It was my fault anyway._

Justin took a breath. "I still don't remember anything." He said in a sigh. Brian nodded absently and moved to get a drink of his own. "Last thing I do remember is you telling me you wouldn't come to my prom." Brian frowned. How much time was that? Jesus. "But they said that you showed up, after all. And that we danced together. And that it was amazing. Daphne said that we were amazing."

Brian turned his half-focused gaze to Justin. "We were alright."

He saw a quick, dim version of that Sunshine smile. "Shit! I wish I could remember that." Brian rubbed the back of his neck and grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam. "And then, I walked with you, back out to your Jeep." Brian stopped moving, turning halfway towards Justin, his eyes fixed on a point far away, his mind's eye replaying the scene Justin was talking about. "And that's when Chris Hobbes came out with a baseball bat and-"

"I thought you said you couldn't remember anything." He'd had to interrupt Justin. He didn't want to hear it.

"I cant. This is just stuff that other people have told me." Brian stared at the bottle cap in his fingers. Justin shrugged. "It's like, pff, a story that happened to somebody else."

Brian dropped the cap on the counter. "Yeah, well, I can remember. I can remember everything." Shit. He wasn't going to do this. He wasn't going to get vulnerable. Fuck. _My fault. My fault._ He walked across the room and stood with his back to Justin. The words tumbled out of him against his will as he watched the scene play out in his head. He ran a hand across his face again.

"I saw him. His was coming after you with a bat." His voice cracked, but he didn't notice or care. He looked down, trying to clear away the images. It didn't work. He looked up again. "But he was moving too fast and you were too far away." He closed his eyes, frowning at the memory, the unbidden images that had been fogging his brain for too long. "And I ran. But there was no time to stop him." _My fault._ He closed his eyes, dropping his head. "And then he swung." He mimicked the motion with his head. "And it was too late. There was nothing I could do." He fought back the tears stinging at his eyes. _My fault my fault._ "And then you just laid there on the cold cement." _And it was my fault. And I couldn't do anything._ He breathed hard; he could still feel the hard cement on his knees, the warm blood rushing over his fingers, the fear in the pit of his stomach. He blinked, suddenly aware that Justin was behind him.

"It wasn't your fault." Yes, it was. He answered in his head. How the hell did Sunshine know what he was thinking? Justin walked around to stand in front of him. Brian stared at him, through him, uncertain whether or not to believe that this was real. Tentatively, Justin reached out his left hand and placed it on his shoulder, shaking him gently. "It wasn't your fault."

Brian stared at Justin, watching as his eyes searched Brian's face.

_If I hadn't come, you wouldn't have almost died. If I hadn't been there, he wouldn't have hit you. You would be okay. If I wasn't there, you wouldn't have lost weeks. If I wasn't there, you would actually remember that night. _

One-handed, Justin slowly drew him into a hug, gently stroking the back of Brian's neck, somehow instinctively knowing the gesturing was soothing to him. Brian reached up and held Justin to him, concentrating on the solid alive-ness of his body, the gentle touch of his hand. He closed his eyes.

They stood that way for a long time.

Then Brian was pulling back, pushing himself back into the mask, as best he could. But the damn thing was practically see-through around Justin.

"Does your mom know you're here?"

"Um, I left a note."

"Uh huh."

"Yeah, she'll probably kill me." Brian looked away, quickly reminding himself _He's alive, he's alive and he's all right._ Justin seemed to noticed his change. He touched Brian's arm gently and shrugged in apology.

"We should…probably get you back before your mom sends out the entire police force to look for you."

"She would, you know." Justin chuckled a little. Brian gave him a reluctant half smile.

They headed out to the car, Justin leading the way. He jabbered on about physical therapy and Daphne and his parents and Debbie's pasta as they drove. Brian kept silent, just listening to the voice of the boy beside him. Living, breathing, all right.

They stopped outside Justin's house. Justin had stopped talking. He sat there, looking at his hands as Brian stared out into the darkness, his brain still replaying the scene in the parking garage, start-stopping like a bad, grainy old film.

"Thanks." Justin looked up at him. Brian shook himself, glancing over.

"For what?"

"The ride, saving me."

"I didn't save you." _It was my fault that you almost died_ went unsaid, but they both knew it was there.

"I meant tonight." Oh. Brian blinked slowly, uncertain of what to say to that. "So…will I see you again?"

At that moment he decided that he didn't want to let Justin out of his sight. "Yeah. You'll see me."

"Well, don't wait too long. At this rate, who knows how long I'll be around." He grinned. Brian stared at him. It was a bad joke, and a pretty fucking low dig. He watched Justin open the car, struggling with his hand. The porch light flicked on and Jennifer wrenched the door open.

"Justin! Where have you been? Do you have any idea how worried I was?" _It's always my fault. Why do I always get him hurt?_ Brian stared at nothing again. His eyes flicked toward the two on the porch. "How could you just leave like that?"

Jennifer's exclamation was like a jab in the heart and the throat at the same time. _How could you just leave like that? How could you just leave like that?_ It was something like that that had echoed and bounced in his brain those three days in the hospital. _How could you just leave like that, leave me to see you bleeding, dying, leave me to fall to pieces when I don't know how. How could you just leave like that?_

"I left you a note." Justin's _(Justin's) _indignant voice.

"Come inside." Brian looked over to see Jennifer ushering her son into the house. She glanced back at Brian, her expression one of dislike and blame. He looked away, staring down at his hands. He drove home in silence.


	5. Chapter 5

Brian woke up abruptly at six forty-five AM and spent the entire day in his apartment, dressed only in jeans with the top button undone, pacing. He couldn't decide if he wanted to go to Chris Hobbes' trial or not. He didn't know if he could bear to see the kid that had nearly killed Justin. And if the trial didn't go well, he didn't know if he'd be able to control himself. But he wanted to be there for Justin, and he wanted to see the outcome for himself. So he spent a long time fighting with himself in his head, arguing and debating. Finally he took a deep breath and decided to go. He chose a suit and laid it out before stepping into the shower.

By the time he got to the courthouse, he could see that court was already in session. But the guards seemed to recognize him. Maybe from the paper, although one of the guards looked vaguely familiar, so maybe they'd fucked. In any case, they let him in and he edged into a seat as the judge was talking.

"Court will recess for ten minutes." Brian raised an eyebrow as the judge left the stand and hurried away.

"Where the fuck's he goin'?"

"That's a hell of a time to leave."

"Great suspense."

Melanie nodded. "Its how he got his name, 'Regular Roy.' Every day, at twelve-fifteen on the dot, he goes to the bathroom across the hall, sits in the stall under the window, takes a dump and has a smoke."

"No way!"

Brian rolled his eyes. Humans were so fucking weird. He just wanted this goddamn day to be over so that he could see Justin and so that kid could get what he deserved. Even if it was his fault for being at Justin's prom in the first place, at least the person who committed the actual crime would get punished.

The judge entered the room and everyone stood. Brian put his hand on the bench to stand, then remembered what an asshole this judge was and decided the guy didn't deserve his respect, and so sat again. A gut feeling told him this kid was not going to get what he deserved. Not even close.  
"Christopher Mark Hobbes, this court accepts your plea of guilty of simple assault. Because of your age, the fact that you have no previous offenses, and because you were unduly provoked, you are hereby given a two year suspended sentence and ordered to serve 500 hours of community service." The gavel slammed down. Nothing had been done.

Brian walked out of the courthouse in a daze. This country was so fucked up. Hobbes had gotten nothing for nearly killing Justin. Now he really wished he'd done more than hit the kid in the knees. He stopped for a moment to watch Debbie insisting that they march and protest, then shook his head. The courts didn't do anything. Marching wouldn't do anything either. He got in his car.

Driving home, a memory of high school suddenly surfaced and he immediately knew what he was going to do to get back at that asshole judge. Granted, it would never be enough, but still, it was at least guaranteed to work.

After he got home, he rooted around in his cabinet by the television for his old high school textbooks. He pulled them out and set them on the table, grabbing a notebook and getting down to work. Fifteen minutes later, Michael knocked on the door. He got up, let him in, and flopped back down in the white chair to continue his research.

Michael began rummaging around in the kitchen for something to eat. "Ma says we're gonna march. We need to show those asshole what we think, make them change their charges. We're gonna protest and stuff. She's at home right now calling all the PFLAG branches to get their support. She wants everyone we know to gather as much support as possible. We need to protest, get them to listen."

"Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. All protests are bullshit." Did Michael really think that was going to work? "I mean, a bunch of well-meaning do-gooders marching around carrying signs? Chanting? 'Hey, hey, ho, ho, homophobia's got to go. Give me a goddamn fucking break!"

"So I guess this means you're not going with us."

"Hell, no, I wont go." He had better ideas, anyway. But it was best that no one else knew. Especially Mikey. Because he was shitty at keeping secrets and a shitty liar. In a matter of hours, all of Liberty Avenue would know what Brian was up to. Which wouldn't help at all.

"So your just going to sit there on your ass and do nothing?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Michael was so goddamn irritating. He didn't want to go to Debbie's stupid protest. It wouldn't do shit. But he couldn't tell Michael that because Michael would tell Debbie and Debbie would get all pissy and bitch at him. "Jesus, what did I do all these weeks without you here to harangue me? When the fuck are you going back, anyway?"

"I'm not."

"I know." Brian didn't even look up from his research. Michael hadn't needed to say anything. The fact that he wasn't gloating to Brian about his wonderful boyfriend or scolding him profusely for fucking around while Justin wasn't around, was evidence enough. Add that to the mopey face he got when he thought no one was looking, it was obvious what had happened.

"What, did Ted and Emmett tell you?"

"No, I managed to figure it out all by my little self." He blinked and looked at Michael, then back to his books. "I mean, I knew it wouldn't work out."

"Well, congratulations." Brian could feel Mikey's eye roll. "Right as usual."

"It isn't about me, asshole. It's about you. I mean, did you really think you'd be happy in Wisconsin, playing the doctor's wife."

"Oregon. Portland's in Oregon." Brian rolled his eyes. He didn't really give a shit where it was. But Michael's wellbeing did matter to him on some levels.

"Where-ever-the-fuck."

"Well, maybe that's the problem. I don't know where the fuck I belong." He started to stand up. Brian dropped his pen and caught Michael's wrist in a strong but gentle grip, and tugged him down so they were face to face. Then he captured Michael's lips in a kiss that was just barely on the edge of platonic. He paused for a moment against Michael's face, then gently clasped his shoulder and pushed him back.

"There. That's where. Now, will you go on, and help your mom and make the world safe for fags."

Mikey grinned again, looking at what Brian was doing. "What is this, is this our old chemistry book? It is, it's from high school!" He covered his work with his hands a bit.

"Yeah, it's um… I'm doing some research. I have a new client. A drug company."

"Oh. Well, you must be thrilled. You'll be able to get E wholesale." Brian made a face when Mikey wasn't looking and went back to fiddling with his pens. Michael scarfed down whatever food it was that he had made, kissed Brian's cheek goodbye, and hurried off to help his mother save the fags from the rest of the world. Brian glanced at the notes written in the margin of his old chemistry book, jotted down some notes on a pad of paper, grabbed his coat, and hurried to the store.

********

The next day, he was at the courthouse. Luckily, the guard who looked familiar (yeah, he'd definitely fucked him) was still there, and let him in with a slight smirk and nod. Brian nodded back and hurried to the bathroom that Melanie had indicated. He checked the time. Eleven forty-five. He hurried to the last stall under the window, worked his magic, and left quickly. The guard pretended he didn't notice.

He drove back to work and greeted Cynthia as if he had never left and nothing had happened. She gave him a look. She knew that when he acted so nonchalant, that usually meant he was up to something. He finished his work and went home.

Something was ringing. He smacked the snooze button on his clock. The ringing didn't stop. He sat up, rubbing his face, and stumbled out of bed to answer the phone.

"What?"

"Hey, Brian, it's Lindsay. We're all going to Woody's to get drunk. Join us?"

"Uh…okay."

Her voice brightened, going up in pitch. "Okay, great! See you!"

Brian groaned and ran a hand through his hair, then stepped into the shower. It was going to be a long night.

Brian greeted the gang, then sat down and ordered. Everyone was bitching about the judge and the outcome of the case, when someone came running into the bar.

"Change the fucking channel!" The bartender grabbed the remote and clicked over. A newscast was blaring. It took the bar a moment to realize what the screen was showing. Brian sat in the corner and tried not to smirk knowingly.

"After spending fourteen hours glued to a toilet seat, the judge was unharmed, but badly shaken." The bar was roaring with laughter.

"The seat of justice has been severely compromised."

"No skin off my ass." Emmett quipped.

"Bet he wishes he could say the same thing."

Lindsay leaned over to look at the guys. "Well, who do you think did it?"

"Someone who didn't like waiting for his sentence." Brian watched the television, silent. Then he shook his head and picked up his paper. The deed was done and he was no longer interested.

"One thing you can say for sure, that must've scared the shit out of him."

Michael approached him with a small smile on his face. "You know what this reminds me of?" Brian looked at him expectantly. "That time in chemistry class, when you said you were going to invent synthetic cum, and you made that goo, and you put it all over the toilet seat in the teacher's lounge. And Mrs. Renfrew got glued to it."

Mikey always figured out his secrets. Especially his little tricks. He looked away as if thinking about it, then gave Michael a secretive smile.

"I better take off." He got up off his stool and left. He could feel Mikey's eyes on his back.

He spent the better part of the night smoking weed and gloating.

***********

It was nearly three thirty when he finished up at Ryder. He said goodbye to Cynthia, who gave him a knowing grin. He could tell she'd heard about the toilet seat incident and immediately knew who's fault it was. He gave her a small smirk back, silently telling her to keep her fucking mouth shut,

Driving back to his loft, he decided to stop by Justin's and see how he was doing. He got out of his Jeep and knocked on the door. It opened quickly.

"Oh. Hi, Brian!"

"Hello, Daphne. You're looking dashing today. Where's Justin?" He peered around Daphne.

"Hey, Brian." Justin's face suddenly lit up. It wasn't a bright summer day sunshine smile like it used to be, but at least it was there.

"Want some help with your exercises? I thought we could toss the ball today." He smiled a little at his own joke. Justin nodded and walked closer as Daphne ran off to get the tennis ball. Brian touched Justin's shoulder gently, noting the tiny flinch that the boy tried to hide. "How are you doing, Sunshine?"

"Better, I guess. Since you're here. Everyone's been bitching about the trial all day. Every person I talk to apologizes. People have been calling to apologize all day."

"Unplug the phone. It works like a charm." Justin smiled a bit and nodded. Daphne returned with the tennis ball and pressed it into Brian's hand.

"Let's go outside," she suggested. "It's nice out and I don't think Mrs. Taylor would like it if we broke something."

Brian sat down on the step and Justin stood about a foot away. He made sure Justin was looking before tossing the ball gently to him. He caught it in his left hand and transferred to his right, tossing it back to him. For a little while they threw it back and forth in silence, concentrating on catching and tossing.

Justin stopped and shook out his hand. Brian leaned forward and took the boy's hand in his, massage the palm and fingers gently. They both knew it wouldn't do much good, but Brian knew that it made Justin happy. They tossed it back and forth some more. After about five minutes, Justin was frowning in frustration and shaking out his hand again.

"I knew they'd let him go." Brian cleared his throat. He'd known it, too. "They don't care about us. They want us all dead."

"Look, don't think about it, okay? Just focus on what you're doing." He tossed the ball back to Justin.

"Shit!" He shook out his hand, trying to keep it from cramping up and shaking. "Fuck!"

"Come on, you can do it." Brian insisted.

"Nah, I cant." He couldn't let Justin give up. No way.

"Yes, you can. Come on." He held out his hand. Justin gripped the tennis ball and tossed it. Brian caught it and smiled. He knew Justin could do it. He had to. Brian wasn't going to let him give up.

"Hey, that was good, Justin!" Daphne said, a little too brightly.

"Oh, Daph, you're so full of shit." A car pulled into the driveway and they all glanced at it. Brian looked down. He probably should have left a while ago. Jennifer Taylor got out and looked at the three of them.

"Hi, Honey. Hello, Daphne."

"Hey."

Brian took a nervous breath. "Hello, Mrs. Taylor."

She gave him a displeased look. "Hello, Brian." She addressed him curtly. He gestured with the tennis ball.

"We were just tossing the ball." He knew it sounded crude coming from him, and suddenly wished he could take it back. She looked away from him to her son.

"I think you should rest now."

"I'm not tired."

"I'd like to speak to Brian." Justin stared at her, then turned to Brian. Brian knew he'd have to face some sort of blame from Jennifer. It was his fault, after all. So she had the perfect right to blame him. He nodded at Justin, assuring him that it was okay.

"Come on, Daph." Daphne got up and followed Justin into the house. Brian stood, flexing his back, uncertain of what to do as Jennifer walked inside to put her briefcase down. He heard the door shut and turned to face her. She took a breath.

"The day the doctor sent him home from the hospital, he said he'd never seen such a determined patient, and he asked me what it was that made him work so hard. I-I knew, but I didn't tell him. It was you." Brian blinked at her and shifted, looking down at the tennis ball in his hands. "Every day that you didn't come to see him was more incentive for him to get better and get out so that he could come see you." Brian stared out across the yards, twisting the ball in his hands over and over, uncertain of what to think or feel. What was she saying here? "Of course, what Justin didn't know, and I didn't tell him, was that you were there. Every night." He looked at her abruptly. How did she know? No one was supposed to know. "The nurse on duty told me. I want to thank you for that, but he's home now, safe and sound, and there isn't any reason any more for you to watch over him, so…so I would like you to leave. And never see him again."

This is what he'd been afraid of. After that night, after telling Justin what he'd seen, that he couldn't forget what he'd witnessed, he had decided that he never wanted to let Justin out of his sight. He looked around, swallowed thickly.

"I care about him." He didn't know how to say what he was really feeling. It wasn't in the Brian Kinney vocabulary.

"It was because of you he was almost killed." The accusation was sharp and blunt at the same time, piercing his heart and hitting him in the gut. She blamed him too. She'd said it out loud. Now he really knew it was his fault. He looked down. "Forgive me for being so blunt." He looked away from her, toward the houses across the street. "I've tried to accept him for who he is, to accept your world and that he's part of it. I've even tried to accept you. And as a result I nearly lost him." _I know. I was there._ "And I don't intend to lose him again." Maybe it was better that he stay away from Justin. If he did, maybe Sunshine wouldn't be hurt any more, the possibility wouldn't be around because Brian wasn't around. "So if you care about him….and I believe you… I believe you do. You'll do what I ask, and return my son to me."

Brian looked down, grimacing. Letting Justin go was hurting him more than he realized it would. He took a breath, turning to Jennifer to protest, then gave up. He looked at the tennis ball in his hand, rotating it with his fingers, then held out to her. She took it from him and stared at it. He walked away. He felt like a zombie, like he was walking through a fog. He felt something akin to pain that wasn't really pain in the pit of his stomach, and tried not to double over from it. He blinked as he opened his car door. First he had tried to let Justin go, and when that didn't work, he didn't want to let him out of his sight. Now he was being forced to let his Sunshine go, and it hurt worse than anything.

He glanced at the two boys playing catch in the street as he and Justin had just been, then looked away. He wondered how much more it would have hurt if Justin had died, then shook his head slightly, resolving not to think about that. Getting into his car and turning the key, he decided that it was probably for the best anyway. Not being around Justin would mean that he wouldn't have to feel these things he could not name or face. Not being around Justin would mean that Justin was much safer. Not being around Justin meant it was easier to just be Brian-fucking-Kinney. Not being around Justin would hurt less. But driving away, feeling Jennifer's accusing eyes on him, he realized, it wouldn't.


	6. Chapter 6

That night he went to Babylon with the boys. Sucking and fucking was a lot better than sitting around smoking weed. He stood on the stairs, watching the mass of bodies undulating below him, zeroing in on the hot ones. But for some reason, he really didn't feel like going down and nabbing any of them to take to the back room. Emmett was staring longingly at one of the dancers.

"God, I want his ass."

"Who doesn't?"

Emmett shook his head. "No, no, I mean I really want his ass. Instead of this tired old thing."

"You've always said your ass was your finest feature."

"Only, lately it's looked a bit peaked."

Brian made his way down the stairs. "Yeah, well, maybe it needs a rest." He couldn't believe he was hearing himself say that. Emmett leaned back to look at him.

"What it needs, is a lift."

"You're too young for plastic surgery." Ted commented.

"Haha. This life can wear you out by the time your thirty. Right, Bri?" _Haha. Fuck off._ He started back down the stairs. "Besides, self improvement is something we should all strive, no matter what age."

"Trust me, take it from me; gluteal enhancement is very pricey."

"My god, Teddy! Don't tell me you had work done!"

Brian smirked. "Yeah, cause if you have, I'd sue."

Ted nodded sardonically. "Heheh. I'm speaking in my professional capacity as a financial advisor. Butt work costs big bucks."

"Big bucks, I don't have." Emmett shrugged.

Brian prepared a bump. "Well, maybe you could sell that old tired ass for a new one." Emmett chuckled at him, grinning. He watched Michael bound over.

"I just got the most fucking amazing blow job." He leaned on the railing. "Want a bump?"

"No, thank you."

"Looks like fun though."

Michael looked disappointed. "What's wrong with you guys?"

"It's late." Ted moved away. "Tomorrow's a work day." He kissed Michael's cheek.

"Yeah for some of us." Brian was a little annoyed that Michael didn't have a job yet.

"Sightseeing's over." Emmett kissed Michael goodbye as well.

"It's early! C'mon! We just got here!" The two rolled their eyes and left. Michael turned to Brian. "Let's party!"

Brian felt tired. Not exhausted, but his brain just didn't want to think anymore, and his body didn't want to move, it just wanted to get inebriated. He sat down on the stairs.

"You've been partying ever since you got back."

"So what if I have? I-I'm free now, I can stay up all night and fuck my brains out, like you." _Not like me, not right now._ Brian scoffed, laughing at him sardonically. Mikey held his hand out. "Let's dance."

Brian shook his head. "I don't want to."

"It'll be good for you. It'll take your mind off things."

Brian waved a hand at him. "I-I said I don't want to."

"Well you always liked dancing with Justin." _Fuck. You._ Brian stared at him. What Michael had just said was totally out of line, even if he didn't know it. He shook his head, putting his beer down and brushing past Mikey. He strode out of the club and got in his car, driving home to collapse in bed and try not to think about what he almost lost and what he had lost and what the fuck was wrong with this goddamn world.

**********

"Briiiaaaannn! Oh, Briiiaaan! Wake up and come help me with your son's birthday present. Brian! Get up and get over here!" Brian groaned at the message machine that had awakened him and answered the phone.

"Huh?"

"I said, get your ass over here and help me set up Gus's first swingset. Come on. Get your ass out of bed. When did you get home from work?" Brian looked at the clock

"An hour ago. Thanks for letting me sleep."

"Get out of bed. Come over here. Help me build this thing. Melanie's not here, if that's any more incentive."

"Fine." Brian grumbled through gritted teeth. He didn't bother showering, since he'd fallen asleep at his computer desk in his work clothes. He carded his fingers through his hair and drove to Lindsay's.

She had already started, but the swingset was a mess. He started reading the manual aloud as Lindsay puttered about with the tools and the mess of poles and screws and other bits and pieces.

"Attach part J to part K using a…gratchet. What the fuck is a gratchet?" He tossed the manual away.

"Beats me. I'm sure Mel would know. She's a whiz with hardware."

"Oh, I bet." He turned to look at his son. "I think we should just hire someone else."

"Hey! It's your duty as a father to build your son's first swing set." Lindsay insisted loudly. "Now get cracking. I want it ready for his birthday!"

Brian moved to help her, looking at his steadily growing son in the stroller. "I know, it seems like only yesterday I was jacking off into that cup."

Lindsay giggled. "And you and Michael and Justin were tearing into the room." She looked at him softly. "You couldn't believe you had a son."

He thought back to that night. "Two sons." Then he grew silent when he remembered he didn't have one of them any more.

"Why don't you give his mother a call and see how he's doing?"

Brian shook his head. He'd better not. "She doesn't ever want me to see him again."

"I know, but…maybe if you spoke to her…"

He shook his head. "No, she's right. It's better this way." _I don't have to remember every time I see him and he doesn't have to try every time he sees me._ He decided he didn't want to talk about it any more and moved to work on the swing set. Lindsay tried to help him, but the damn poles weren't lining up. "Wait, wait." It wasn't working. "Fuck this. Maybe I'll have it ready in time for your wedding."

Lindsay chuckled. "Oh, there wont be any wedding. Mel turned me down." Brian couldn't help it, he cracked up. Finally, something and someone worth laughing at. "Ah, it's good to hear you laughing finally, asshole."

"You finally proposed to her and she blew you off? How come?"

"Oh, for reasons I'm sure you'd appreciate. 'I don't think a meaningless heterosexual ritual would prove our love, and it wouldn't be legal anyway.'"

"Hey, cant argue with that."

"Hey, I was on the debate team. I can argue anything."

Brian messed with the wrench, making a face. "But for once, I agree with Melanie. Fuck weddings. Fuck rituals. And fuck this swing set!" He shoved it. Lindsay laughed.

"I guess I can see if Mel can figure this out, since we cant."

"Yeah, you forced me over here for nothing."

"Hey, you get to see your son!"

"Yeah." He turned and smiled at Gus, lifting him out of the stroller. "Hey, Sonnyboy." He could feel Lindsay's affectionate gaze on them as he spoke softly to his son.

********

"Brian!" He could hear Justin's muffled voice yelling through the door, his knocks echoing. "Brian!" Shit. He opened the door, pulling the pissed Brian Kinney mask on. He wanted to see Justin badly, but it really was better this way. It was better if he wasn't around Justin. Justin was sweaty and out of breath, he looked scared. "I'm glad it's you."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Who else would it be?" He put a hand out to stop Justin. "Where you going?"

"In."

"Did I say you could?" Thank god he was good at this rejection shit. Justin smiled. _Shit._

"Don't give me any shit, all right? I nearly freaked out five times getting here."

"Well, you're going to have to nearly freak out five more times, getting home."

"I want to see you."

"Well, you cant, okay?" It hurt to see Justin's face fall like that, but he couldn't let it show on his face.

"Why not? Are you fucking some guy?"

"None of your fucking business. Now go away." He started to close the door, but paused. _Just go, before I pull you in here myself and never let you go._ He looked away and shut the door.

"But why?" Justin's plaintive cry made him stop on the stairs to the bedroom. "Why?"

*********

Brian stalked through Babylon, scrutinizing his choices before zeroing in on his prey. It was some guy who'd been eyeing him all night. He was hot enough, Brian decided to go for it. He slithered up to the guy, whispered in his ear. It didn't take much for the trick to latch on to him so they could go back to the loft.

But the whole time he was fucking the guy, all he could think of was Justin. The goddamn kid was even infiltrating his sex life! Christ! His mind was not on what he was doing. When he came, he thought of the sunshine smile from before the bashing.

He pulled out of the trick and sat on the edge of the bed, smoking a cigarette as the guy dressed. He flicked his lighter open, closed, open, closed, unable to get Justin out of his head. It was driving him out of his fucking mind.

"D'you ever see Citizen Kane?" The trick's question brought him back to the present.

"Yeah."

"All my life, all I've ever heard is how it's the greatest fucking movie ever made. So, I finally rent it. The guy who plays the lead is fat, the story about some sled sucks, and it's in black and white."

"Maybe you were expecting too much."

"Like with you. All I've ever heard is how Brian Kinney is the greatest fuck ever. If you ask me, you're both highly overrated." Brian rolled his eyes. Who cares what this guy thought?

"Well, everybody's a critic." He lit his cigarette and strode toward the door to show the trick out. "Next time, maybe you should rent Butthole Boys. I gave it two thumbs up."

He slid open the door. Jennifer was standing their, hand raised to knock. She looked at him, then away. He rolled his eyes.

"I-I came at the wrong time."

"You two have a lot in common." He turned and wandered away, allowing the trick to let himself out.

"May I come in?" Jennifer asked tentatively. Brian picked up his jeans and gave her a 'go ahead' gesture. She stepped inside and looked around. "You're place is very…glamorous."

"Does the trick." He said around his cigarette, fully meaning the double entendre.

"I'm sure." He opened the refrigerator and grabbed random contents out. He was sort of hungry, but really he just needed something to do with his hands. "You know if…if you ever feel like selling, I'm a realtor now."

"He's not here."

"I know. It's why I came. To ask you a favour."

He frowned at her. He'd already left Justin alone and promised not to see him again. What else did she want? His virginity back?

"I already did you one."

"Yeah, but, uh…" She looked at her hands. He began cutting open an avocado. "This one's for him. I want you to take him."

He stopped. "'Scuse me?" What the hell?

"I want you to take my son." He slowly opened a peanut butter jar. Take Justin? But she just made him promise not to see him. What the hell? Was it fuck with Brian's mind week? What the hell was going on? He rubbed a hand across his face.

"Mrs. Taylor…"

"Jennifer."

"Whatever. What the fuck are you talking about?"

She gestured helplessly. "He, um…wont let anyone touch him, or…let anyone near him. He shows practically no emotion except when he's in one of his rages or he…wakes up screaming from a nightmare. But that's not even the worst part. The worst part is, um…standing there, helpless." A memory of that night, running with no time to stop anything, flashed in front of Brian's eyes. "Do you have any idea what that feels like?"

_Yeah. Yeah, I know exactly what that feels like. I know what that feels like because it was my fault. I know what it feels like because I was the one running with no time to stop him. I know what it feels like because I was in the ambulance when I didn't know what was going on. I know what it feels like because I sat there for three days feeling that way. I have a very good idea of what that feels like._

He cleared his throat and looked at her. "What would you like me to do?"

"Touch him. Help him be touched."

He frowned. "You want me to fuck him?"

Jennifer sighed. "You're the one he trusts. If that's what it takes…"

"I thought you never wanted me to see him again." He couldn't help accusing her. This fucking with his head was pissing him off.

"I don't. But, um…if I'm ever going to see my son even remotely resemble the person he was, I don't have a choice."

He stared at the countertop. It was better if he wasn't around Justin. But he wanted to see him. But it was true about Justin being different than he was. Brian missed the kid. And if he was helping him…

"Okay."

"Okay. I… Thank you, Brian." He nodded blankly. Jennifer showed herself out, leaving Brian to his thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

Brian yawned, trying to keep one eye on the road and one eye on the radio. It had been a long day at Ryder. He had spent most of it yelling into phones, and the rest of it yelling at staff and trying to fix their stupid fuck ups. He was glad to be going home. But he had to swing by the Taylors' house first. Pick up Justin. He turned on to their road and parked in front of the house.

The door swung open as soon as he knocked, a whirlwind Molly pushing past him to run outside. He watched her scramble into the car and wait, bouncing.

"Sorry." Jennifer apologized, picking up Molly's duffel of soccer equipment. "He's…he's in his room. I have to go. I'm sorry. Please don't stay in here too long." She watched him warily, gave him a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, then hurried out the door behind her daughter.

Brian stood still for a moment. It was odd to be alone in Justin's house. He'd only been there a few times before, and never had he been welcome or alone. He made his way up to Justin's room. The door was closed, so he knocked gently.

"Fuck off, Mom."

"I'm not your fucking mother."

"Brian?"

"Who the fuck do you think?" The door open. Justin's face was bright.

"I thought she was fucking with me when she said you were coming over. She told me she was going to let me live with you."

"Uh, yeah. She is. Let's get going." Justin's smile brightened further and he smiled, turning to pack some stuff into a duffel bag. He didn't need much, a lot of his stuff was scattered between Deb's and Brian's. Justin followed him out to the car and they drove in silence. Brian glanced over at the blonde several times, but Justin was sitting their, a gloating smile on his face. He giggled a little.

"She thought she could keep us apart." He put a hand to his eyes, then wagged his finger. "'I don't want you seeing my son any more.'" He mimicked. "We showed her."

Brian smiled a bit. Justin was being really annoying. "Would you shut up?"

"What for?"

"Because I said so, and because you sound like an immature brat."

"Well, maybe I am." Rebellious little twat. He didn't realize how much his mother loved him. He was lucky as hell to have that. Brian knew he sure as hell never even got a bit of love from Joan.

"Then you can get your ass out, and walk home. Right now." He watched the fear tumble through Justin's eyes, then quickly vanish. Justin looked at him.

"What is the matter with you?"

"She was trying to do the right thing. You don't know how lucky you are to have a mother like that." Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Justin think about this, then shrug.

"Now I get to stay with you. Yeeha!" He was grinning.

"Just until you get better."

"There's nothing wrong with me. Except for my gimp hand. Fucking Hobbes." _And the anger. And the freaking out. And the not being able to be touched. _But Brian didn't say any of that.

"Well, just don't think about it, alright?" He closed his eyes and tensed against the steering wheel. Why was he tell Justin not to think about when it was all _he_ could think about?

"How come you're doing this?"

"What, driving with no hands?" He joked. Self defense mechanisms were way too useful in this life.

"No, why are you letting me stay with you?" _Because I missed you. Because I don't want to let you out of my sight._ He put his hand back on the wheel and faced Justin.

"Why do you care, it's what you want, isn't it?" They sat for a moment in silence, but Brian was pretty sure Justin wasn't done yet. God. He'd missed Sunshine's babbling on, even if it was obnoxious.

"I know why." Justin sing-songed. "It's because you love me. Madly, passionately, deeply. Just like I always suspected." He looked at Justin and rolled his eyes. The kid was a hopeless romantic.

They got out of the car. Brian lifted Justin's duffle out of the back and they headed into the building.

"Can we, uh….take the stairs?" Justin asked, frowning at the tiny elevator. Brian nodded. They climbed the stairs to his loft and Justin waited behind him, shifting quietly, as he unlocked the door and slid it open.

They spent most of the evening just talking. Justin talked, mostly, but Brian brought up some interesting conversation topics as well. As they talked, Brian helped Justin with his exercises, gently massaging his hand whenever it cramped up. When Brian looked up at the time, it was already past midnight.

"I'm going to take a shower and go to bed. Okay?"

"A little early for you, don't you think? Shouldn't you be out?"

"I'm staying in. With you." He savored the brief sunshine. Then he got up and headed to the shower, sliding the bathroom door shut respectively, even though he rarely did that when Justin was around. He let the water pound down on him and thought about what he had agreed to do. He just hoped he was doing the right thing. He wanted Justin back. He wanted that Sunshine smile to come out again. And he wanted to be able to touch the boy with him flinching away, thinking Brian didn't notice. He turned off the water and dried off, flopping into bed and picking a magazine off the nightstand. He could hear Justin clattering around in the kitchen, cleaning up from dinner out of habit.

When Justin joined him in the bed, he put the magazine down and turned his attention to the boy. It was now or never. He hoped Justin would let him touch him. He watched him get into the bed fully clothed.

"What are you doing all the way over there?" He watched Justin's movements, but he couldn't tell how to read them. "Come closer." He rolled over, allowed the fabric of the blankets to separate them. "Why don't you take off some of the clothes? You might get overheated."

Justin smiled at him nervously and tugged at his shirt. Brian gently helped him to take it off, brushing his knuckles against Justin's bare back. Just the slight touch and wanted more, but he knew he had to be gentle and slow. He leaned in, a little tentative, then kissed him gently. When Justin responded, he took this as encouragement. He rested his head gently against Justin's, listening to him breath. "Roll over." He encouraged softly. He felt the boy tense against him. Justin looked at him, then sighed and rolled onto his stomach.

Brian slowly moved over Justin, grabbing the condom and lube, then rolled off to look at him as he opened the condom. Justin glanced from his face to the condom and back again, looking so trusting and yet so unsure. Brian didn't know what that meant, but Justin didn't stop him so he continued, placing his cock at Justin's entrance and pressing his face to Justin's back to kiss his shoulder as he pushed in.

But then Justin was twitching and jerking beneath him, squirming away. "No. Don't. Don't." He moved away, watching him panting on the pillow. "I can't." Justin sat up, moving to sit at the edge of the bed. Shit. That hadn't gone so well. He didn't like Justin's pain. Brian ran a hand across his face, grinding a palm into his eye. He wanted to comfort Justin. He wanted to help him. He hated seeing the hurt and the fear so obvious on his face.

Uncertain, he moved to sit behind Justin. "It's okay." He hesitantly reached out to touch him. Justin sighed but didn't flinch.

"It's not okay." Brian began tracing random patterns along Justin's skin with a finger. He didn't know what to do, what to say. Brian Kinney wasn't one to bare his soul, but as he listened to Justin's quiet tears, watched his shoulders shaking with silent sobs of fear and frustration, he wanted to do whatever he could to make his Sunshine better.

*************

"Brian, come on. I have to go to therapy." Brian groaned and pulled himself away from the boards he had been staring at for the past hour, analyzing, trying to figure out which was best for the company he was advertising. "The car's not going to drive itself to my physical therapy."

"Okay, okay." For a moment he had sounded like the old Justin, and Brian stood there and savored that thought before following Justin out the door to drop him off at his 7 PM appointment.

"Bye." Justin opened the passenger door with his left hand and got out.

"Bye. See you in an hour." He watched Justin flinch at the sound of the door slamming shut, wincing himself at the look on the boy's face. He made sure Justin got inside, then turned out of the parking lot and drove back toward Liberty Avenue.

Once at Woody's, he scanned the crowd for his friend. Unfortunately, he realized that he may not recognize then man now, since he would be clothed, and since it had been quite a few years since they'd seen each other when it wasn't dark.

"Brian! Hey, Brian!" A light-haired man was waving to him beside the bar. He walked up.

"Dr. Alex Wilder." He announced sarcastically to the familiar man. "Hi. Did you get my message?" He nodded toward the bartender, ordered.

"Yeah. You said you wanted to talk. Off the record. And you wanted my advice. That's got to be a first."

"Yeah, I know. But….Justin's…I need your professional advice." Brian took the glass that was handed to him.

"Okay, talk. I'll give you what I can."

"You heard about the kid, the one who got bashed at his prom?" Brian didn't like referring to Justin as a "kid," but right now he had to distance himself. Alex nodded, raising his eyebrows in a gesture for him to continue.

"I don't know how to help him. His mom gave him to me, said he trusts me. I'm sure it was completely against her better judgment, but she did it because she thinks it'll help Justin. But it's not helping. Or not helping enough. Or…I don't know. But he's different. Scared. Nervous all the time. He freaks out if he's alone for too long, but he wont live the apartment. If I touch him, he flinches, tenses up. He lets me kiss him, but only if I go slow. Last night…" he broke off, rubbing a hand over his face in a gesture of distress he hadn't meant to display in front of a shrink, of all people. "Last night I tried to fuck him. First time since the bashing. He freaked out. Barely let me touch him after that. I just want to help him get better. So I can go back to fucking him as usual." He added as a defense mechanism. He knew Alex would see through it, but he did it anyway.

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Yeah. You tell anybody about this, you're dead."

Alex looked at him. "You know, for someone who has enough disorders to merit your own classification in the diagnostic and statistical manual, you are one of the most well adjusted and high functioning bastards I know."

Brian made a face. Shrinks had weird ways of complimenting people. "Thanks."

"What's your secret?" Brian made his way across the room to a table, talking over his shoulder as he went.

"A series of hopeless addictions, for one," he held out his glass and smirked. "And, never seeing a shrink." They sat down. Alex smiled at him.

"You're seeing one now." Brian made a face. Alex put out his hands, his clinical face on now. "So, uh, you tried to hold him, to have sex with him, but he wouldn't let you touch him? That must be a first for you."

Brian fixed the psychiatrist with a stare. I _asked for your help, not your sarcasm. _Alex smiled a bit, taking back his remark. "However, it's understandable. Something like that happens, naturally he's going to be afraid to let anyone touch him. Even you."

"But he'll get over it, right?" He needed to know, needed to be reassured that his Sunshine would be back. He didn't want to have to deal with this black ball of pain that seemed to be surrounding the normal happy blonde.

"Well, that depends. It's like a….a fairy tale. Rapunzel trapped in the tower, Hansel and Gretel, caged by the witch. Only in this case, it's Justin's memory that's locked up. And it's…it's up to you, to release it. Handsome prince."

Brian sighed. And how the fuck was he going to do that? He wasn't a shrink. He couldn't get into people's heads and know immediately what they needed. "And…" he frowned, sitting back. "How the fuck do I do that?"

"Trigger his memory. Get him to feel the pain."

Brian stopped. Get Justin to feel the pain that was probably worse than what _he_ had been feeling this past month? Get Justin to feel the pain of something that had nearly killed him? "Are you shitting me?"

Alex shook his head, serious. "Until he can process it and move beyond it, he's always gonna feel isolated, unhappy, alone." Brian closed his eyes. How could Alex be so much more insightful than he was and not even had met the person they were talking about? "He's not just the walking wounded; the walking dead."

Brian took another drink, exhaled. "You're very eloquent when I'm drunk."

Alex laughed and looked at him knowingly. "I'm afraid our time's up."

"So how much do I owe you?" Brian asked mockingly. He watched Alex get up and approach him.

"I'll take it out in trade. Next time I see you in the Baths." Brian chuckled. That wont be for a while. He watched Alex walk away, then stared down at his drink, trying to process all the information he had just received. He had to trigger Justin's fucking memory? What the hell? And how was he going to do that? Hit him with a bat again? Make him go see Chris Hobbes? He shook his head. No. He'd have to think about it.

*********

He drove back to the hospital to pick up Justin from therapy, and waited outside for the boy. He glanced at himself in the rearview mirror and noticed a bit of silk showing itself from beneath his shirt. He tucked away just in time, as Justin walked out of the doors and up to the car.

"Hi."

"Hey. Get in. Let's go home."

Driving back, he realized that Justin didn't remember the dance they'd had together. While Justin was in the shower, he called Daphne, who agreed to his plan.

The next evening, once Brian got home from work and Justin had finished with his exercises, Brian called up Daphne. She arrived with a small smile, handing Brian a CD.

"Thanks. Hold on a sec." Daphne conversed with Justin while Brian wandered into the bedroom and changed into the black shirt that he'd worn to Justin's prom, being extremely careful to tuck the stained scarf away so it would stay well out of sight. He stepped back out. Daphne clapped her hands.

"Well, let's get started. Come on, clear off the table." Frowning, Justin did as she commanded and moved the stuff onto another chair, then watched as she and Brian moved the table, then the couch. Brian almost laughed at the look of utter confusion on his face.

"What are you guys doing?" He asked as they rolled up the rug.

"We're going to help you remember your dance."

"I told you, I don't remember."

"Yeah, but we can at least try, cant we?" Justin shrugged and stared at the floor. Brian let Daphne talk to him, busying himself with something on the chairs. He listened to her tell the events of the prom. "Well, we were dancing. And, um, I think they were playing this. Anyways, that's when Brian came in," He heard his name and entered, standing beside Daphne so that they were in a similar formation to the one he had entered when he came into their prom. "And he had on a tux, and a white silk scarf."

Brian could feel the scarf around his shoulders. He hoped to hell this would work. He looked at Justin.

"I think I remember that." A spark of hope bloomed in the pit of Brian's stomach. "But I'm not sure."

"Well…um, he looked awesome!" Daphne grinned at him. "And he said to me…" She gestured to him, it was his cue. He turned to her.

"You look hot, Daphne. I'd fuck you." She laughed, just like she had that night. Justin huffed a sort of forced chuckle.

"And then he asked if he could borrow you," Brian gently took Justin's right hand, moving a little bit. "to dance, and he took your hand, and uh, led you to the dance floor. They were playing this." She hit the button on the stereo. Familiar, and now painful, lyrics poured out. He put his other hand on Justin's waist. Justin's left hand stayed near his chest, the fingers rubbing together nervously.

"Close your eyes." He told Justin softly. "Maybe, uh…you'll remember something." He swayed with Justin, pulling him gently along, dancing in a similar path to the one they had taken before. But it was different. Instead of Justin following eagerly, he was pulling away, uncertain, tripping over his own feet. Brian sighed, remembering the all-encompassing happiness they had both felt while dancing that night. It was not present now. He stopped. Justin opened his eyes and looked at him.

"Well?"

"We really danced to this corny old song?" The blonde gestured toward the stereo. Brian chuckled, and making himself extremely vulnerable, pulled out a last ditch effort.

"Ah…I'd prefer to think of it as 'ridiculously romantic.'" He widened his eyes and raised his brows in expectation of recognition of the remark, but all he saw in Justin's eyes was confusion and not a hint of recognition. He pulled Justin back to dance, still trying.

"You should've seen it. You and Brian had the entire floor to yourselves."

Brian smiled a bit, recalling. He bit his lip. "We did some, um, pretty fancy moves."

"Mouths were dropping! It was so cool. And then, when you guys kissed…it was so hot!"

"You kissed me?" _Yeah. I shouldn't have done that._ Justin pulled his hands away, drawing them close to him. "In front of everybody?"

"Yeah. You should've been there." They looked at each other, both disappointed. Brian sighed. Justin dropped his hands and stalked over to the couch, sitting down.

"It's not going to work."

"What else can we try?" Thank god for Daphne's overly optimistic attitude.

"I don't know. I could-" _take him to the garage where it happened. Where he nearly died. Where I nearly fell apart._ "Never mind."

"No, you could what?" It was Justin, wanting to know. Brian glanced up at him, then down at his hands, picking at them. He scratched the back of his neck.

"I could, uh, take you to the garage. Where it….happened…." He couldn't look at either of them. He heard Justin get up and walk over to him, and didn't look up until he felt a hand on his arm.

"It's okay, Brian. I'll…I'll try it. Okay?" Brian nodded, looked up. He closed his eyes for a moment, then stepped forward.

"Let's get my fucking living room back to normal so you can get out of here and back to your homework." He said to Daphne, who grinned. The usual Kinney charm was back, if not a little cracked.

***********

Daphne left with a grin and a wave. Sighing, Brian ran a hand through his hair and turned to Justin.

"Are you sure you want to do this tonight? We could-"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Let's go." Brian sighed again. He sure as hell wasn't ready to go back there. But since Justin wanted to, he had to.

* * *

**I promise the next chapter will be a whole lot more emotional and angsty. Which is my favorite thing to write, since it's so much fun to get into Brian's fucked up mind.**


	8. Chapter 8

**This chapter was written listening to Parce Mihi Domine and No More Good Guys by Skindive (The song that plays when Brian drops Justin off "How could you just leave like that!") on repeat. Knowing the lyrics to the songs that go with the scenes is extremely helpful in writing for the characters. Thank you so much for following this story! It was really fun to write!**

* * *

Brian was silent as they got in the car. So was Justin. Both felt the weight of what they were doing heavy on their shoulders. Justin was lost in thought as they drove. Brian was lost in memories. He hated the feeling of being left alone that being without Justin had given him, but he also hated the feeling of pain that emanated from Justin as they sat beside each other. He felt like he was sitting next to a living corpse; he could feel Justin sinking, his hope capsized and drowning beneath his lost memories.

_How is hurting him going to fucking help him? It's not helping me._

Brian pulled slowly into the parking space that his car had inhabited a few months before. He watched as Justin opened the door, got out. Then he took a breath and got out of the car as well.

Peering around the building that held so much pain, he nodded a bit to himself. _This is to help Justin. I can do this. No vulnerability allowed._ An image of blue and red lights flashed across his mind and he glanced down. Then he shifted a bit and looked up.

"You walked down with me, back to the Jeep," he remembered the laughter, the incredible smile that had been lighting up the world. He stepped towards the car. "We were, uh, goofing. Singing. And we were dancing." _God, I wish we were back there again. I wish I could do that again. _He touched Justin. He wanted to see that grin again. Justin backed away and Brian backed off, looking straight ahead again. "I kissed you, we said later." He swallowed, the memory making him want to go back in time. "And then you turned around and, um, smiled. Then I knew why Debbie calls you Sunshine." _You were so beautiful. I didn't want to stop looking at that smile. But I haven't seen it in a while. Hobbes took it away. _ He stared at Justin, realized how vulnerable he had just sounded. Shit. He took a breath. This was the hard part. He didn't want to think about this.

"And then I went back to the Jeep, and….I s-saw him… in the mirror, coming after you."

_'Justin!'_ He could hear his own voice, pitched too high, crying out a warning. The image of the kid with the bat flashed in front of his eyes, the fear filled his gut once again. He turned to one side, squeezing his eyes shut against the images on the back of his eyelids_. Too fucking vulnerable, weak. No, God. I was so scared. I didn't know what to do. No, no, no, no. Justin, don't die on me, don't die, hang on._ Justin, collapsing. Blood running down his face, onto Brian's hands. Kisses onto clammy pale skin. Flashing red and blue lights. Justin's limp, unresponsive body in Brian's arms.

He rocked, unable to keep himself together, unable to keep the images away, unable to dull the pain. The dull ache of fear in his gut roiled. He wanted to curl in on himself, to roll into a ball and squeeze his eyes shut so the images in his head would go away. In his mind, he heard the thud of wood on bone, the clatter of a bat to the cement.

"Christ!" he let the anguish out in a yell, then softened when he realized he might have scared Justin. "Don't you…. remember anything?" _I wish I didn't remember anything. I cant get that night out of my head. I cant stop thinking about it. _Letting out a breath of pain and frustration, he stared at the spot where Justin had laid, still seeing his body there in his mind's eye.

He heard Justin sigh, felt him step closer. He couldn't look away from the ground, from his memories, from that night. He remembered blood on the ground, a pale white scarf on pale white skin, both marred with red. _What if I'd lost him? It was my fault. Hobbes wouldn't have done that if I hadn't kissed him. God, what if I'd lost him?_ He breathed hard, trying to calm himself, trying to will away or suppress the fear, the despair, the pain he still felt in the pit of his stomach. He could feel the memories there, too. He felt Justin's hands pawing at him, trying to comfort him.

"I wish I could remember."

Brian opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He tried to come back to the present, and was only partially successful. '_Just- don't go. No, no, no. You have to stay here. Justin!'_

"I wish I could forget." He felt Justin tugging gently at his shirt, and for a moment was irrationally afraid to look at him, afraid he'd see the bloody, slack face, all the sunshine gone. He blinked, grimaced, shook his head to clear it. _He's alive, remember? It's okay._ He let out a cathartic sigh and slowly looked over at Justin. He was met with concerned blue eyes.

"Brian?"

"I….I just…." He stared at the spot where Justin had once laid in a pool of blood, where he had once knelt, his legs falling asleep, where his life had crumpled in moments along with his sunshine. _Shit. I cant think about this any more._ "L-let's go."

Justin followed his gaze on the cement, eyes void of recognition, but full of the same frustrated pain that Brian felt. He nodded, and looked back up at him, brushing his hand along Brian's arm. Brian could tell that Justin wanted to touch him, to hug him, but was both afraid to for himself and afraid to for Brian.

He watched Justin turn and get in the car. Letting out a few deep breaths, Brian pulled himself back into the now and joined the blonde, turning on the car and backing out, itching to get out of that place as fast as possible.

**********

Back at the loft, Brian chain smoked three cigarettes, standing beside the window, looking out at the lights of Pittsburgh. Then he decided to take a shower. He stepped into the steaming water, leaning his head against the tile. Going to that place had hurt him a hell of a lot more than it had hurt Justin. And fuck Alex for thinking that it would help. The aching he felt was now sharper, deeper, fresher than before, as if someone had untied the stitches on a wound before it could start healing.

He sighed and shut off the water. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he stepped out into the bedroom and pulled on a pair of sweats and a wifebeater.

"It's Gus's birthday tomorrow," He said over his shoulder. Justin looked up at him from his book. "The munchers are having a party. Do you…do you want to go?" Justin looked down, chewing his lip. "We don't have to if-"

"No," Justin interrupted him. "I want to go. If I cant handle it, which I can, I'll ask you if we can leave."

"I….all right." Brian nodded. "Come to bed? I'm not….I wont…I'm not gonna…" He couldn't form the words to what he was trying to say.

Justin nodded. "I know."

He put the book down and stepped into the bedroom, tugging off his jeans but not his shirt. They got into bed together. Brian was careful to stay on his side, but Justin tentatively slid closer, permitting Brian to slide a hand up to rest on his arm. Brian let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and allowed himself to sleep.

**********

"Are you sure you want to go?" He asked again for the millionth time. He just wanted to make sure Justin was totally okay.

The blonde rolled his eyes in the ultimate teenager fashion. "Yes, Brian. I want to go. I want to be there for Gus's first birthday. And you should be there. He's your son."

"Yeah. Okay. Why don't you clean up and we'll get going to the munchers' soirée." Justin nodded and headed to the shower.

Brian stood beside his computer and frowned at the date. Gus's birthday. And then he remembered what had also happened on Gus's birthday. He had met Justin. And the persistent little twink had stayed. For a year, now.

_He almost didn't,_ a little voice whispered. _You almost lost him._ Brian shook his head and looked up to see Justin standing in the doorway, dressed and ready to go, an uncertain but determined look on his face.

***********

"Justin! Hi!" Mel and Lindz were grinning like crazy. Brian noticed Lindsay visibly restrain herself from hugging Justin. Brian had alerted them to his aversion to physical contact, and they had agreed not to touch Justin unless he initiated it.

Justin smiled crookedly and waved. "Hi, guys."

Brian gave Lindsay a kiss on the cheek and raised an eyebrow at Melanie, who gave him a rather annoyed look, then turned to take care of another guest who had just walked in.

"Go on in. Everyone's in the backyard," Lindsay told them. "But careful! There are many children running about."

"Yeah, you might get you clothes dirty." Melanie deadpanned over her shoulder. Brian sneered at her before turning back to Justin, who nodded and led him toward the back.

"Sunshine!" Debbie turned, grinning and opened her arms. When Justin shied away, she dropped them, rubbing her hands together. "Sorry, honey."

Smiling apologetically, Justin ran a hand across the back of his neck. "It's okay. Hi." She grinned at him, then hurried off as her name was called. Brian noticed Justin pinch the bridge of his nose, blinking.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Can we just…not go out there? Too many…"

"People?" Brian nodded. He knew.

"Yeah."

Melanie clapped her hands, making both Brian and Justin jump as she breezed by them out to the deck. "Okay! Time to sing to the birthday boy!" Everyone gathered around Lindsay, who held Gus on her lap as the crowd sang to them. Justin and Brian hung back, Brian on the steps leading down to the deck, Justin just outside of the doorway, his expression dark. Neither of them sang.

Everyone clapped and cheered as Debbie entered, carrying a big white and yellow cake. Brian watch Lindz and Mel blow the candles out for Gus, not sure whether to feel proud or freaked out. Mel stood up.

"You know, I would just like to say what a thrill it is for Lindsay and me to be celebrating our beautiful son's very first birthday. And how happy we are. How very happy that you're all here to share it with us." She looked at Justin, who gave her a small, reluctant smile. Brian glared at her, but she didn't see it. _You think you're happy, how do you think I feel?_

Debbie's loud voice cut through. "Will you cut the schmaltz so I can cut the cake?" Everyone laughed, and the party continued. Brian couldn't decide whether to keep his eye on Justin, or watch Gus. He finally decided that Justin was close enough to him, and so looked at his son.

Once everyone had had their fill of cake, Mel's voice called out, "Present time!" and everyone gathered again. Brian watched with a sort of faint disgust as Gus's presents were opened. He'd always hated birthdays. They were stupid and just meant you were another year more ancient. Another year closer to wrinkles and grey hairs and…ugh, he didn't want to think about it.

"Ooohhh!" Everyone's voice pitched higher as Lindsay pulled a miniature, sunshine yellow plastic baseball bat from the newest box.

"Let's see!" Lindsay put the bat in Gus's tiny hands, wrapping her own around his and using his arms to wave the bat around. "Yes, oh, look!" She turned to Brian, who was watching the proceedings, slightly amused at his little son. "You're son's gonna be a baseball player."

"Yeah, well, if you make a man out of him, I'm gonna hold you personally responsible." He quipped with a smirk. She and Mel rolled their eyes and turned their attention back to the little boy.

"Oohhh!" They waved the bat around, showing Gus how to hold and swing it. "Baseball!"

Brian watched, not really interested, but he liked watching his son, even if the women and Emmett were coddling him. He smirked.

A small groan from Justin made him turn, in time to see Justin's head jerk to the right, eyes shut tight, as if being hit by something. A bat.

"Justin." He got up, eyes wide. Fear was scribbling away in his gut again. _Shit. Not again. No._

Justin's eyes opened wide and he let out a breath, holding out his hand to ward Brian away from touching him, but Brian ignored it and wrapped his arms around the blonde, clutching him to his chest. For a moment, Justin resisted, then wrapped his arms around Brian, holding on to him. Brian held him close, rocking him gently as they stood in the doorway, then, still clinging to Justin's small frame, Brian pulled them both slowly inside. He pulled gently away and looked at Justin, whose eyes were closed, his hands clutched to the fabric of Brian's shirt, face contorted with pain. Brian slowly guided him outside, helping him into the car. They drove in silence, Justin leaning his head against the cool window, eyes still shut tight, his right hand held protectively against his stomach, his left cradling it gently.

Brian got out of the car and walked around to the other side. He slowly opened the passenger side door. "Justin." Justin looked up at his name, but his eyes were dark and far away. Brian slid his arms around the blonde and helped him out of the car and up the stairs to the loft. He was silent and unresponsive as Brian pushed him gently into the bedroom and onto the bed, pulling off his shoes and socks and jeans. _Is he going to say anything? What's wrong with him? God, is he going to be okay?_ It wasn't until Brian pulled the jeans free that Justin moved, curling into the fetal position on top of the sheets, still cradling his hand. Brian stood and switched off all the big lights, leaving Justin alone to sleep.

Brian paced the darkened loft, thinking. Which, of course, was never a good sign. But he didn't know what the fuck was going on. _What was that? Is he all right? God, it was like the bashing all over again, but this time he's still awake. What's wrong with him? If he's hurt, I'm gonna…. Shit, what the fuck just happened?_

He moved to the phone, for a moment thinking of calling Alex and asking him what the hell just happened, but he really didn't want to talk to the guy. He didn't want to hear another voice right now. So he paced, until he had to do something with his hands, so he quietly turned on the kitchen light and made himself dinner to eat, even though he wasn't really hungry. He finished making food and then realized he really didn't want it at all. He put it in the refrigerator.

The brush of fabric from the bedroom caught his attention, and he decided to check on the sleeping boy. He switched off the rest of his lights, walking slowly up to the bedroom. He stopped when he saw that the blonde was awake, nervousness and uncertainty flooding him. Justin looked at him, through him. Brian tried futilely to hide the fear in his eyes.

"Better now?" _Are you okay? Shit, you scared me._ Justin nodded.

"Mhmm."

Brian didn't know what to do. He scratched at his back, uncertain, then moved slowly to sit on the edge of his bed. He rubbed his hands along his bent legs, looked at Justin. Fuck. He didn't know how to be dishonest in front of Justin, not when it was his fault, not when they were both so vulnerable.

"You really freaked me out."

Justin smiled a bit, chuckling, "What, you?" _Sunshine, you have no idea how scared I was. _

He scratched the back of his neck, nervous, shaken. _I never want to see that again. What happened? Christ, it…I was so freaked._ "It was like you got hit, all over again." He looked at Justin, who took a small breath.

"I remembered walking away, and….suddenly hearing your voice call my name. To warn me." He looked at Brian. "You never told me about that." _Because it didn't help. It just made things worse._ "You tried to save me."

He looked away. "Guess I forgot." _I couldn't tell you…that was- I was too vulnerable already._ Justin moved closer, so their legs were touching. Brian looked up at the contact as Justin's hand moved to his shoulder.

"Guess it's a good thing one of us remembered." _So you're okay?_ He watched Justin move closer, lips automatically parting to kiss him. The kiss was tentative, gentle, loving, almost. Nothing like their usual make out sessions. He pulled back, watching Justin, aware of his left hand at the open hem of his shirt. He felt the slide of silk on his skin, and Justin was looking down at the bloodied scarf as he pulled it from concealment.

They both stared at it. For some reason, Brian felt as if Justin had just uncovered an enormous, painful secret, even though the did not remember the complete significance of the scarf. He realized could no longer remember the white silk in its pure form. Now it was just a stained, damaged memory that he couldn't get rid of. Justin's eyes held no recognition or realization to the hurt it held. But he looked questioningly at Brian, as if realizing that Brian was in as much pain as he was, just different.

_Yeah, Sunshine, he hurt me just as much as he hurt you. I haven't been able to let go either. You cant ever know what that did to me. How fucked up I was. I'm sorry._

He watched Justin glance at him, then drop the scarf onto the floor, out of sight. Somehow, Brian felt like something had just detached itself from his chest and fallen away. Justin scooted closer, putting his hand on Brian's leg, his face close to Brian's, their foreheads nearly touching.

"I want you inside me." Brian looked up. At first he thought he had imagined those words. The words of Justin letting go, allowing himself to be touched again. But he looked at the boy's face and saw the fear, the determination, the trust there.

He shrugged, uncertain. _What if I hurt him?_ "Are you sure?"

Justin nodded. "Yeah. Just…take it easy."

_I'm scared I'll hurt you. But, wait….you don't blame me. It's not my fault? I don't want to hurt you. I just want you to be okay. Go slow…"_Like…the first time?"

Justin smiled slightly. Brian guessed that he, too, knew what else had happened today a year ago.

Justin slowly slid Brian's shirt off his shoulders and ran a hand across his back, leaning in to kiss him. There was reassurance in the kiss, a reassurance that he was okay, that it wasn't Brian's fault, that it would get better. Justin pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor, then gently helped Brian pull out of his jeans. Brian moved away, scooting back on the bed and sliding off his boxers. He made sure to keep all his movements slow, fluid, in case Justin freaked out. Justin moved with him, and Brian craned his neck slightly, needing the contact, afraid to initiate it. But Justin moved close to him, kissing him as he pulled off his own boxers.

For a while, they just kissed. Soft, chaste kisses that moved to gentle exploring when Justin initiated it. Then Justin was pulling away, leaning their foreheads together.

"Please." The soft, nearly broken, imploring sound made Brian want go back in time and reverse everything. But instead he ran a gentle hand down Justin's side as the blonde lay down on his stomach. Everything was going to be all right. If Justin was letting go, he could, too.

He lay down on his side beside Justin, and pulled the boy's body flush against his. For a moment they just lay that way, breathing together, savoring the still contact. First Brian just moved against Justin, simply rubbing their skin together, the soft contact a reassurance that they were both alive and okay. The brush of their skin made his senses tingle, and he felt himself grow hard. He looked at Justin, who nodded slowly.

Gently, he lined himself up with Justin's hole, moving his body slowly. He felt Justin's hand on his thigh, heard his soft sigh of release, and kissed his neck tenderly. The pulse beneath his lips was yet another wonderful reassurance. Brian's body tingled, he felt a soft warmish glow start in his stomach and spread. If this was what letting go felt like, it was incredible. Brian had never felt this way before. He let his emotions out through the kisses he placed on Justin's neck. Justin's hand reached up and carded through his hair, a gentle signal of allowance.

Slowly, so slowly, Brian pushed in, capturing Justin's lips in a soft kiss, allowing him to tangle their fingers together. He stopped, letting Justin to adjust to him, he himself adjusting.

"Brian." Just his name, soft, barely audible. Brian kissed the side of Justin's neck, and began to move, slowly, gently. He kept one hand on Justin's hip, the other clung to Justin's fingers.

Justin's soft sighs, the gentle breaths he took, calmed Brian. They held hands beneath Justin's head, the side of his face where the newly-healed scar was, brushing softly against their entwined fingers as his sighs allowed them to let go of the pain. Brian leaned over, and when Justin pulled his head down, he knew the boy was all right. He kissed Justin gently, telling him without words that he, too, was letting go, and that he understood that he was not to blame. And assuring Justin that they would get through this.

The stained white silk lay on the floor, forgotten. The hurt and pain and fear were still there, but like the stains of blood on the pearly cloth, they were slowly fading. Though Brian knew in his heart that he would never be able to throw the scarf away, it had fluttered to the ground, released.


End file.
